The Devils You Think You Know
by tfbl
Summary: Moments in the life of Claire from the IABD universe. WARNING: This fic is rated High Teen to Low M for images of violence and breif scenes of rape. If this offends you or you aren't of legal age please don not read.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I had to fudge the time line a little, so the events that are depicted in **_**The Second Coming**_** and **_**I Am Become Death**_** will occur, just at a latter date then in the series. Also, it was implied by Angela Petrelli in **_**The Butterfly Effect**_** that if Peter had not gone back in time then Sylar would not have been able to take Claire's power. This story follows that assumption (up to a certain point). **

**AN 2: This story will be divided into Section Numbers (Section One, Section Two…), and each Section Number will cover the number of years that is indicted at the top of the first chapter for the Section Number in question.**

**AN 3: One more thing. This fic will contain severe Nathan and Tracy bashing, and Peter bashing to a lesser extent as well. Just thought I should warn you.**

**Disclaimer: The only thing that is mine is the general plot and the events and characters that do not occur/appear on Heroes. Everything else belongs to their respective owners. No money is being made.**

**Section One: Chapter One**

**2008 - 2019**

If you told Claire Benet two years ago that the world would not only know about the existence of those like her, but her biological father would be the one to revel the news by _flying_ on live TV, she would have been overjoyed.

As it so happened, that is exactly what occurred.

When Claire saw Nathan demonstrating his power in a news room surrounded by cameras, accompanied by Peter and Matt Parkman she had stared in wide eyed amazement at the screen. Without a second thought or even bothering to pack a bag she had drove to the airport and hoped on the next flight to New York, pausing only to send a quick text message to her mom and dad to explain where she had gone. As Claire sat in her cramped seat next a fat, bald guy who was trying to flirt with the attractive Asian woman next to him, she watched Nathan's video feed over and over. She was so proud of her biological father, thinking that he had changed the world for the better. Claire had thought that now that the world knew about those who possessed powers they could help people. She thought that they would be accepted by society (after the initial fear had passed, of course), possibly looked up to, maybe even given positions were their powers would be put toward good use.

She had been stupid, and also dead wrong.

**PART TWO**

If you were to see Claire today, you most likely would not recognize her as the same girl that had been on the plane that day, so full of pride and hope for a better future. You would not recognize many things about her.

She looks older for one thing, about 19 or so.

Claire is not that naïve teenager incapable of defending herself any longer. She has spent four years working for one of the many organizations known as Pinehurst, and has been trained in every defensive art you can conceive; karate, boxing, stealth and tracking, knifes, guns and tasers, just to name a few. She can tell you where all of the major arties are on a human being, and weather it takes longer for someone to die if they are shot in the stomach or stabbed through the lung. She knows how much force is required behind a roundhouse kick to break a femur, and how much pain the average human body can withstand before the brain turns off their sensory input.

Once Claire would have done anything for her family, for she had held unconditional love for them, despite their many faults. Now, seeing as her mom and brother were both dead, the only person that Claire can say that with absolute certainty about is her dad, Noah. Her grandmother, Angela had died a few years ago, but they had never been very close and the only thing that Claire had ever received from her had been looks of disappointment and constant put downs. Claire has not seen her biological mother, Meredith Gordon, since meeting her briefly at the age of 15, and as for Nathan and his wife, Tracy… well let's put it in polite terms and say that Claire held as much love for them as she would a stray dog. The only one Claire was uncertain about was Peter, whom she hasn't seen or even heard from ever since he went on the run only one month after the revelation. Once Claire would not have hesitated to protect him with her life, but now, if it came down to a choice between his life or hers… she honestly dose not know.

Her hair is still blonde, but instead of wearing clothes of soft pastels or bright and vibrant tones Claire is wearing sleek black leather, the slandered uniform for all Pinehurst employees.

She is also leaning against a building in New York, doing nothing as she watches an entire family with black bags over their heads being loaded into a truck. It is not that Claire does not care, especially when the small girl is knocked out with the butt of a gun, but Claire knows that when it comes down to it, she could just as easily be the one with a bag over her head. All it would take was for her biological father, President Nathan Petrelli, to decide that she was too much trouble and take away his protection. If that happened Claire would instantly be classified as an illegal (someone with an inborn power), which thanks to the worldwide law that had been passed three years ago, meant that she had as little rights as the African American slaves once had. She would be hunted as ruthlessly as a rabid animal, and upon being captured she would be drugged, chained, and have her identity stripped away as one of those black bags were forced over her head. In all likely hood she would then be taken to where all of the captured illegal's ended up, a facility known as "the Camps", places that made Nazi Germany look like a tropical vacation spot. Claire would face torture, brutal experimentation, and living conditions that would make a rat turn away in disgust.

You might say that that Claire wasn't giving Nathan enough credit, that he loved her and would never allow something so terrible to happen to his only daughter. Claire on the other hand knew that she was nothing more then an inconvenience to Nathan, and that his "love" only extended far enough to give her a choice the day he became President: Pinehurst or the Camps. Whatever else Claire may have been, she was far from stupid. She choose Pinehurst.

You might also say that the entire world could not be of the same mindset regarding those who were born with a power. For surly not everyone thought of people like Claire as "filthy disgusting animals", and didn't bat an eye when people were seized from their homes in broad daylight. In some regard you would be correct. There were still those who thought that what was happening was sick and wrong, and in the beginning there had been protests and riots. When those people started disappearing, when they would come home at night to find their family gone or dead in their beds word had spread as quickly as wildfire, and in no time at all those protesters had been silenced. What they had done instead was establish underground railroads right under the public's nose, giving those who were being hunted a chance at a safe and relatively normal life. The majority of the public however, including every government leader the world over agreed with the former view and wholeheartedly supported the Camps (Claire privately suspected strong telepathic influence). The only concession that the leaders had made was to place at least three Pinehurst organizations in every country. The original plan had been for those who chose to have a power injected to work for the facilities in order not to be confused with those who had been born with a power, and to hunt "dangerous terrorists". Somehow the underground railroads had gotten involved, turning Pinehurst into the only place were "illegal's" could hide out in the open, every documentation claiming that they had had their power synthetically injected. More often then not Pinehurst was the only choice between being "off limits" to the government, or facing the camps.

So this is Claire Bennett now. She knows how to kill, and has killed many times. She has seen terrible things occur and has committed many terrible acts herself. She dresses in black, holds loyalty only for herself and her father, and knows that there is only two things standing between herself and the Camps, one of which is instable at best.

Why had she ever wanted this revelation of her kind?

She doesn't have an answer.

**PART THREE**

If you had asked Claire who she would have thought would be assigned as her partner, never in a million years would she have thought it would be _him_. When she learned that she was supposed to train in the one who was to work beside her she thought, _you've got to be kidding me_. When Claire was informed that her partner was an ex-serial killer had wondered if the higher ups had lost their minds. After turning around to face her new partner for the first time her thoughts had consisted of a rather hysterical _…. No, it's not possible….. Crap, now I need to make out a will._

Standing in the doorway, wearing blue jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket was Sylar.

_Sylar._

The man who was known for cutting off skulls and stealing powers, who had almost killed her at her High School, and whom she had seen killed by Hiro Nakamura over three years ago.

Needless to say her overall reaction was less then stealer.

"I didn't know that the human voice could reach that pitch. I'm impressed." Sylar comments as he follows her out of the building, ignoring the stares and sniggers from the surrounding cubicles.

Claire says nothing in response as she clenches her hands into fists, concentrating on controlling the urge to knock him to the ground and hold her knife to his throat.

They are in the parking lot before Claire whirls to face him, Sylar instantly halting and putting hands in his pockets as Claire keeps her hands poised over her knife and gun. Sylar opens his mouth to speak, but Claire beats him to it. She doesn't know what Sylar expected her voice to sound like, maybe he thought it would be fearful as she faces the man who was once her worst nightmare, or perhaps he had expected the whiney one of a spoiled teenager.Judging by the slight widening of his eyes, it definitely was not the calm, yet somehow lethal tones of one who was well accustomed to carrying out threats.

"Let's get something straight, Sylar. We've been assigned together as partners, which means we are not allowed to kill each other. Which is convent for you, I'm assuming, seeing as I can't die. You could put a knife in my heart and you wouldn't get in trouble for it. But if I _ever_ see your finger rise to cut off my skull, I _will_ kill you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." He says, his voice serious and his face expressionless as if he wants her to know that he does not doubt the sincerity of her threat in the least.

Claire gives a curt nod and continues to walk across the parking lot, not wanting to spend a second longer in his company that day then she has to.

They began Sylar's training the next day, Claire choosing to instruct the lesson sans defensive powers. If Sylar had thought it would be easy to overpower her, then he was wrong. Claire has him flat on his back in five seconds, her fake training gun pointed straight at his head. Claire expects him to be angry that he was made to be the weak one instead of her, but surprisingly he isn't. Sylar only tightens his shoulders, gets a steely expression on his face and rises to his feet, motioning for her to go again.

And so it continues. Claire teaches him everything that she has been taught over the past four years. She teaches him how to break bones without damaging the internal organs, how to deliver a fatal and non fatal stab wound, how to aim and fire a gun, which injury will cause the slowest possible death, and how to turn something like height or strength against your opponent. It's doesn't always come out in Claire's favor of course, for Sylar_ is_ much taller and stronger then her, and she receives as many broken and bloody noses, black eyes, and pulled muscles as she gives him. Claire instructs Sylar on how to break someone's hold, how to stalk a suspect without being noticed, and how to "bag and tag" someone without leaving evidence behind.

She takes him to the exercise room in order to up his endurance and stamina, whereupon she learns that he can complete five miles on the track and four rounds on the agility course before doubling over, gasping for air. She makes him work harder.

Claire isn't all that eager to take him out into the field with her, mostly because she doesn't trust him not to murder their targets, but she has to regardless of her personal preference. For the first few months Claire deliberately puts him in situations where he would have the prime opportunity to kill, such as choosing a target that has an ability that Claire knows Sylar doesn't possess. To her surprise he never does, even though his entire body is tense, there is a predatory gleam in his eyes, and it looks like it's costing him his arms and legs to refrain from taking what he so desperately wants.

Claire also puts them in scenarios where their lives are in danger, such as nearly drowning or facing off with a guy who can shoot venom out of his eyes. This isn't done so much to see if she can trust Sylar to have her back, or if her will try to murder their suspect, but rather a test of Claire's own to see when Sylar will realize the dangers of this job, and if he will then take her power for himself.

After a full year of working with him Claire trusts him not to kill her, and by a year and a half Claire knows that he will have her back out in the field, and that he will not try to slice open her skull and take her power.

Despite that Claire can't bring herself to call him "Gabriel", no matter how much he asks, proves that he feels honest regret for killing those whom he had, or denies his identity as the psychopathic killer known as "Sylar", claiming that he "doesn't want to be that person anymore."

It isn't until their second year as partners when they are doing nothing more then sitting on a bench in Central Park, watching the pigeons and people fly by that the name "Gabriel" slips out. When her partner hears her calling him by the name that he had been trying so hard to prove to her that he deserved, he smiles. It is the first real smile that Claire has seen from him. Oh sure, she's seen his "Sylar is still in there somewhere" smile, his "nervous smile", and his "this is a fun training session" smile, but this is the first time that Claire has ever seen such a genuine, unrestrained, _happy_ smile from him. Right then and there Claire decides to keep calling him Gabriel, after all he has more then proven that he deserves it, and if a simple name can make him smile like that… well, Claire doesn't see any reason to not to call her partner whatever he wants to be called.

**PART FOUR**

Friendship is something that feels new to Claire Bennett. She hasn't truly had a friend since Zach back in High School, and that friendship had been short lived, to say the least. Claire doesn't really have any friends at Pinehurst despite working there for three years, just colleagues. So when Claire begins to feel friendship for Gabriel it doesn't register until about two years of having him as her partner.

Claire and Gabriel begin to train together more frequently, they go to movies, and play cards. He helps her fix her computer and learns how she takes her coffee, and she learns that he loves to play chess and read Charles Dickens. Gabriel sleeps on her couch after missions that leave them both exhausted, and when Claire falls asleep in unfamiliar surroundings she trusts Gabriel to have her back. Claire makes him stir-fry for dinner when he's feeling down and he makes Cheesecake for her birthday. They have both witnessed each other kill entire families, children, even animals out in the field without batting an eyelash, and have been privy to the personal aftermath.

Claire has given Gabriel her blood on more then one occasion as he lays on the ground, near death from a severed artery or falling from a 12 story building.

"Don't look so worried. You know you'll never be able to get rid of me, Claire." He will say, even as he coughs up blood and bits of bone or his spine straightens itself from it's disgusting U shape.

Gabriel tells Claire about his childhood; how he had been abandoned by his father and was physcogcially abused by a mentally unstable mother, and how he had become a watch maker because he had still been trying to please Martin Gray. In turn, Claire revels to him what it was like to grow up with a father whose word you were constantly questioning, her mother and brother's deaths, and how she had been abandoned and unwanted by her biological parents.

Claire learns that Gabriel accidently killed his mother, is just as fond of tea and fruit as she is of coffee and chocolate, and Gabriel comes to know that her fondness for birds equals his indifference to them.Gabriel revels how he had been approached by Chandra Suresh, how her dad and his "female partner" had manupititled him into killing when he had been trying so hard to control himself, and how he had fallen in love with the "female partner". Claire tells him how she had almost caused the death of a quarterback in High School who had attempted to rape her, how she had only ever had one real friend in her entire life, and discovers that they both hate carrots and blackberries.

Gabriel tells Claire about all the people his Hunger compelled him to kill, how he had briefly been captured by the Company and had began a relationship with the same "female partner" that had tricked him into killing his second victim, and he learns that Claire loves bananas, strawberries, and books by Stephan King. Claire comes to know exactly how he had been lead to believe that Arthur and Angela Petrelli were his parents, that he had almost killed a woman he had loved, because he and Peter had spent "eight years" together inside of his head thanks to a crazy telepath Gabriel now considers him to be his brother, and that he had been sold as a child to the people whom he had grown up thinking were his parents.

In time, Claire tells Gabriel about all of the people she has been forced to kill while working for Pinehurst, and Gabriel tells her that one of the reasons that he is fighting so hard to control his Hunger is because he is afraid of turning into an unfeeling, heartless monster, just like his biological father.

When Claire finally realizes that she and Gabriel have become friends, she knows that there is no one whom she'd rather have next to her on a stakeout or would allow to sleep on her couch.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Applies here as well as in chapter one.**

**Section One: Chapter Two**

**PART ONE**

Claire looks out her window, watching the rain come down from the sky in buckets. She is wearing an expensive blue dress and a beautiful silver and pink butterfly necklace as she waits for her dad, Noah, to pick her up so they can celebrate her 21st birthday. Claire looks at the clock on the wall above the TV, feeling her hope dwindle even further as she sees that it's 9:00 PM, far past the time for their dinner reservations.

Over the past seven years, ever since her mom and brother had died in a car accident the day that Nathan had proven the existence of those with abilities to the world by flying on national television, her relationship with her dad had improved a great deal. Noah no longer lied to her, not even about the most trivial of matters. He was completely honest about the fact that he hated Gabriel and absolutely did not trust him, and that he was concerned that she was falling in love with her partner (now wasn't that ridiculous?). He told Claire the truth regarding his work for the underground railroad known as "Ellen", and he told her when he began dating an old Company partner of his, Lauren Gilmore. Noah finally trusted his daughter with his secrets, and had stopped seeing her as the naïve, defenseless young girl she had once been. Perhaps the change that meant the most to Claire was that she could now count on her dad to not only be there for her, but to keep his promises as well.

Moving away from the window Claire began to pace, her high heals making rhythmic clicking sounds as she walks back and forth across the wood floor.

_It's fine, dad's going to be here. There's probably just a traffic accident blocking the roads or he forgot to charge up his cell phone. Dad promised he'd come. It's my birthday. I need him to be here._

Despite her efforts to be understanding she feels like a teenager again; hurt, angry, and resigned to the fact that her dad will _always_ leave, he will _never_ be there when she needs him.

Experiencing a sudden sharp pain in her ear Claire flinches and looks at her reflection in the mirror hanging next to the door. She is surprised to find blood dripping from her ear and her earring clutched in between her fingers. Apparently she had torn it out of her earlobe without noticing.

Looking at the clock once more she blinked back tears of anger and hurt when she saw it was now 10:30 PM. Claire heads angrily to the fridge, intending to take her emotions out on the Cheesecake that Gabriel had baked that morning, when she hears a knock on the door.

For the first time Claire can remember she is disappointed to see Gabriel standing on the other side.

Upon seeing her friend, Claire knows at once that something is wrong. His brow is furrowed, his jaw is set, and his brown irises are more serious then Claire had ever seen them.

"What's the matter?" she questions, worry causing her voice to come out sharply.

"Claire, I.." Gabriel begins, then falters.

Claire feels her worry morph abruptly into fear. Gabriel's speech _never_ faltered. Usually if he didn't know what to say he would remain silent, contemplating every possible way in which he could precisely say whatever was on his mind before he spoke. The fact that he hadn't carefully organized his thoughts before speaking meant that whatever it was must be truly horrible.

Gabriel closes his eyes and breaths deeply, clearly forcing himself to say whatever it is as quickly as possible. When he speaks his voice is low and soothing, yet for years afterwards Claire would hear them echoing through her mind as loudly and harshly if Gabriel had shouted them into a bottomless cavern.

"Claire, there was a car accident about three hours ago. Your father died upon the impact. I'm so sorry"

Claire feels nothing for a few seconds, then there's a blanket of white across her vision and a loud ringing in her ears. She sees the floor rushing up to meet her and feels Gabriel's arms around her as he catches her before she makes contact with the hard wood.

Her father's funeral was three days later. It was small, the only ones in attendance being René, herself, and Gabriel. Claire didn't expect Gabriel to come, seeing as both he and her father had hated each other with an almost blinding passion.Claire has never been more grateful for her friend's presence then she is as he stands beside her at the open grave, squeezing her shoulder in silent support, trying to offer what comfort he could.

Neither Nathan nor Tracy are present, not that Claire expected them to show up to pay their respects to her _dead father_, and to be perfectly honest Claire wouldn't have wanted them there even if they hadn't had something "more important" to do that day. It just… it would have been nice if they could _pretend_ to give a damn.

After the funeral Claire and Gabriel go back to her apartment, Claire automatically turning on the lights as she tried to ignore Gabriel's concerned gaze following her. Claire had barely felt any emotion since learning of her father's death, not even when the coffin had been lowered into the ground, and she knew that her continually zombie like state was beginning to seriously concern her friend.

"I think I'll go to bed. It's been a long day." Claire said listlessly, not seeming to either notice or care that the sun had just barley set.

"Do you mind if I stay the night?" Gabriel asked, eyes still fixed on her.

Claire nodded. "I think I'd like that, but… could you sleep in my bed instead of on the couch? I just… I think I'd sleep better with you close by".

"Of course Claire, whatever you need." Gabriel responds, his voice gentle as he reaches over and strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. He had expressed no hesitance when agreeing with her request, and Claire knew that if she had not asked then Gabriel would have found some way to at least sleep in the same room as her, even if she had not wanted him to.

Four hours latter Claire's bedroom was nearly dark, the only light a dim silvery glow from the moonlight filtering in through the window. In spite of the late hour Claire was awake, laying on top of the covers and staring at a sliver of moonlight on the wall opposite her. Gabriel was beside her, also on top of the covers, his shirtless form relaxed in contrast to Claire's tense, fully clothed body.

"Gabriel?" Claire said, realizing too late that he had fallen asleep when he jerked, his eyes shooting open. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a few seconds before turning to look at her.

"Did you say something, Claire?" he questioned, his voice thick with sleep.

"No, I was just wondering… what was your father like?"

He blinked several times, apparently trying to wrap his sleep fogged brain around the question.

"I don't really remember. He walked out on my mother and me when I was four. I think I told you that, didn't I?"

Claire showed no response to this revelation, even the slight frown that would have normally crossed her face was absent. Gabriel waited, sensing that her question had been rhetorical, and that this conversation would not be about his father.

After some minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling Claire spoke, her voice filled with so many emotions Gabriel didn't know how she was containing them all.

"My dad… I knew that he loved us but he was always gone, sometimes for nearly two weeks at a time. He would come home and I would hold him as tight as I could because I thought that if I held on tight enough he'd stay."

Claire paused, biting her lip harshly and glared at the ceiling as if she were contemplating beating it into dust. Gabriel slipped his hand underneath her nightshirt and began to rub slow circles on her stomach. Claire, not bothered by the physical contact , made no attempt to remove his hand , and continued to glare at the ceiling. Finally, she continued, her voice now a mixture of anger and grief.

"But he'd always leave again, and I felt like screaming, "Where are you going now? Will you come back this time? Will you be there for my soccer game or Lyle's Spelling Bee? What's more important then us? "

Claire paused, waiting for Gabriel to say something, but he said nothing. Her friend laid on his side, quietly watching her, allowing her to let it out.

"I was waiting for him to pick me up for my birthday you know. I was so angry and hurt because he was late, I thought that something more important then me had come up again."

"_Nothing_ was more important to your dad then you, Claire. He would have given his life for yours a thousand times over."

Gabriel might not have been able to say that he had known Noah Bennet well, but this he knew with absolute certainty. Noah had lied to The Company about her abilities, he had The Haitian remove his own memories of his daughter's escape, and had deceived, killed, and tortured those that would have harmed her. Noah had given his life for his daughter's, he joined the "wrong side' in order to keep her safe, and he had not even heisted to kill an old mentor of 20 years in order to protect her. You would have to have been comatose not to see that Claire had meant everything to her father.

Claire nodded, "I know, but somehow that just made it worse. He would have died for me, and yet he wasn't there for Easter egg hunts or to tuck me in at night."

She paused, trying to sallow the tears that were blocking her throat. "So many times he promised me he would stay, but he'd always break his promise. Eventually I stopped asking."

There was a long silence as Claire squeezed her eyes shut tightly, mouth grimacing as she desperately fought back tears. Gabriel was silent, simply rubbing her stomach and watching as, despite her best efforts a few tears escaped, the moonlight causing them to appear silver as they rolled down her face.

"He promised me that he would be here. I guess he broke that promise too."

Gabriel said nothing, just pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Apparently that was the key to opening the flood gates, and as she began to cry Gabriel held her closely against his body, stroking her heaving back and smoothing her hair. He didn't make a single sound of discomfort as her tears soaked his chest or when her nails caused bloody indentations to appear on his sides. Gabriel simply held her, and when Claire woke up around noon the next day not once had he let her go.

**PART TWO**

Claire returns to consciousness slowly. Gabriel had just slit her throat a few minutes before, in order to get the suspect they were chasing to let down his guard long enough for Gabriel to capture him.

Gabriel is hovering over her, watching her closely, concern in his eyes. As she focuses on him he smiles, obviously relieved to see her alive and breathing.

It's a few moments before the sound of a voice reaches her ears, and as the other agent's words register in her brain Claire feels a cold rage fill her.

"You'll never be anything more then a killer, a monster. You just killed you own partner, and I'll bet you'd love to do it again, wouldn't you Sylar?"

Gabriel's eyes close briefly, and when he opens them they are shuttered, the vibrant brown dull.

Upon seeing the flare of pain in his eyes Claire stands, and ignoring the blood that's covering her like a crimson blanket, turns to face the red haired, middle aged agent behind them.

As Claire turns she is unaware that she places her body in between Gabriel and the other man protectively, her hand hovering over the gun in her holster. She doesn't realize that her green eyes have become as become as bright and as deadly as a Jaguars', or that there an air of deadly ferocity about her form.

When she speaks the voice that issues from her throat is not the one that voice that one would expect from a seemingly 19 year old girl. It is cold, calm, and deadly. It is the voice of the killer she has trained to become, the voice of someone who could end this agent's life without thought or remorse. It is the voice of one who will destroy any threat that rises against them, and right now that threat is directed toward her partner.

"If I hear one more degrading word out of your mouth I'll shoot you myself. " Claire says coolly, experiencing no sympathy or alarm as the man's face goes stark white.

"Who are you to talk about being a murderer? How many people have you killed in cold blood over the past 20 years, Williams? You don't know how much Gabriel has changed, how many times he's almost been killed to save my life. You don't know because you can't be bothered to look."

Claire pauses for a moment, experiencing satisfaction as she watches the agent's fear increase as he faces the unexpected predator before him.

"Gabriel is my partner, but he's also my friend. One whom I have too much respect for to allow you, or anyone else, to treat like a _filthy dog_ beneath their feet."

Claire turns and heads toward the Pinehurst van, not having to look back to know Gabriel will smile evilly at the other agent before following her. Sure enough she hears his footsteps a few moments later as falls into step beside her.

"Thank you for that." He sounds slightly in awe, as though he couldn't believe she had actually threatened to kill someone who had degraded him.

"You don't need to thank me for something when it's the truth." Claire replies as she slides into the back of the van in order to wash the blood from her skin.

As Gabriel gets into the front seat Claire automatically glances at him, smiling as she sees the gratitude in his eyes.

**PART THREE**

Claire doesn't notice when, how, or even why her and Gabriel's styles combine in her apartment. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to have Gabriel's couches among her chairs and rugs, or to see tea sitting beside her coffee. It doesn't bother Claire to find her friend's dishes in between her own in the cupboard, nor when his shampoo and shaving cream take up permanent residence in the bathroom. She likes to see his books and DVDs mixing with hers on the shelves, and when nearly his entire wardrobe makes it's way into her walk in closet Claire doesn't bat an eye. It isn't odd to Claire when her friend's touches appear in her bedroom, or when he begins to sleep beside her in the bed.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Nothing's mine but the plot**

**Section One: Chapter Three**

**PART ONE**

The Blue Moon Club's theme is supposed to be a thing of legend. As she and Gabriel enter the doors and Claire feels the vibrations of the music pound through her body, and a flashing rainbow light show that is enough to give anyone a seizure almost overwhelms her vision, Claire understands why. The appeal however, is lost on her.

Two hours latter Claire leans against the corner wall near the bar, nursing her drink and trying to pretend that her eyes are _not_ fixed on Gabriel on the upper level as he dances with some bimbo whose skirt is so short Claire can clearly see her skimpy red thong.

_It's not like I care if he gets laid. It's supposed to be a fun night out, and if Gabriel wants to sleep with some slut whose probably got 12 STDs that's fine with me. _Claire thinks, attempting to ignore the burning sensation rising in her stomach.

Unaware of the murderous glare she's aiming at her partner and the woman who is now grinding against him, Claire downs her sixth vodka shot and slams the glass down on the small table beside her. Despite all the vodka she has consumed it is impossible for Claire to become drunk thanks to her power, which allows her body to metabolize alcohol so quickly that she never feels the effects. If this hadn't been the case Claire would most likely never have noticed the bartender setting a tall glass of… something pink and foamy in front of her.

Her expression must have looked confused, because the bartender nods to a muscular, blond haired man leaning against the bar.

"It's from Craig." he informs her, the half inch separating them the only thing making it possible to hear. "I don't think much of him, but if you're looking to piss off your boyfriend up there he's the guy for the job."

The bartender leaves before Claire can correct him, so she turns her focus to "Craig", mostly out of politeness rather then out of the desire for sex.

He _is_ very good looking, but not really her type. As the words "piss off your boyfriend" echo in her ears Claire waves him over, unaware of the connection between her impulsive decision and the bartender's words.

Craig confidently swaggers over and presses up against her, invading her personal space and setting her teeth on edge. Claire glares at him and pointedly steps back half step that she is capable of without colliding into the one of the 50 people behind her, and picks up the glass of pink liquid resting on the table near her elbow. Craig's gaze lingers for a few seconds on the birthmark on her right breast before darting up to meet her eyes. He begins to speak, assumedly to apologize, but his voice is drowned out as the music reaches a new pitch, causing Claire's eardrums to throb.

Claire pauses in the act of taking a swallow of her drink to glance up at Gabriel, who has now all but stopped dancing with his grinding bimbo of a partner and is watching her intently, his eyes darting back between her and Craig.

Claire downs a mouthful of the pink liquid, which she registers to late is disgustingly sweet. As she suppresses a grimace and attempts to ignore the way her taste buds seem to be curling, a strange sensation comes over her body. It's almost like her head had slammed into a wall and she is just now experiencing the slight disorientation that follows. Claire knows right away that her drink has been spiked, with what she has no idea, but Claire knows the dose must be strong enough to bring down an elephant to have the slightest effect on her.

Claire feels her heart began to pound, panic rising as she feels herself backed into the wall. Claire tries to struggle, to move her arm so she can break this asshole's wrist or get to the knife in her bra strap, to bite him, to do _something _, but whatever drug this is seems to be effecting her ability to move. As Craig's hand traces her leg, diving underneath her skirt, Claire can't manage anything more then a low scream, the music swallowing the feeble sound.

As Craig moves his hand further up her thigh Claire feels the drug beginning to leave her system as she regains control of her fingers. When she feels Craig's hand on her and the heavy weight of his body pinning her to the wall panic courses anew throughout her body and Claire tightly grips the glass still in her hand. Claire lets loose a cry the is partly pain as a large piece of glass imbeds itself in her palm, and partly fear as she feels Craig's fingers hook around the seam of her underwear.

Just as Claire feels his fingers brush against her vagina she feels the hand yanked violently away.

As if that was the catalyst, Claire feels the last of the drug leave her system and as she regains control of her muscles. She opens her eyes just in time to see Gabriel, his face a mask of deadly rage as he yanks Craig's arms behind his back and slams him viscously into the wall.

Only this man defending her isn't Gabriel, at least not completely.

Claire has seen Gabriel angry more times the she can count, but never has she has _never_ witnessed this type of behavior from her friend. There is a dangerous tension in every muscle of his body, yet it is a relaxed tension, like a wolf preparing to spring on it's pray, fully confident in it's own strength and power. His face was so blank it could have been carved from stone, but his eyes were filled with cold, deadly rage, and they screamed destruction for the blond man before him.

"Did you really think you could get away with touching her?" Gabriel snarls quietly, his mouth close to Craig's ear.

Once again, the voice did not belong to the Gabriel Claire knew. Gabriel's voice was usually strong, warm, and soothing.Even when he was angry with her, his voice was never threatening. It never caused her to fear him or make her reach for her gun.The quatitaly was similar to coffee the color of cameral, thick golden honey, or a deep rich bronze; smooth and warm Gabriel's voice would flow over Claire like calm water over stone and wrap unyieldingly around her body like silk scarves**. **It completelyenveloped her in comfort, security, love, friendship, leased deadliness, loyalty, and trust.

This other Gabriel's voice was low and deadly, ice cold and cunning. It was filled with a seemingly endless kaleidoscope of rich, sensual, liquid dark tones, bringing images of shimmering black silk, flowing molten ebony, onyx raven wings, deep sable and nearly obsidian hued crimson to Claire's mind. This new voice didn't flow like calm water over Claire, nor did it wrap like silk scarves around her. It engulfed her like white hot flames and coiled tightly around her form like strong, silk ropes.It smothered her in possessiveness, nearly uncontrollable ferocity, protectiveness, and unwavering faithfulness.

As her friend turns to appraise her, eyes darkening even further as he took in her disheveled skirt and the blood on her hand, the realization slams into Claire. This man before her, for all intents and purposes, is _Sylar_. It's not surprising Claire didn't know this, seeing as she hasn't _actually_ seen Sylar since that night in Kirby Plaza six years ago. She's seen glimpses of Gabriel's darker side appearing in his eyes quite a few times, such as when they encounter someone with a new power or when someone tries to harm her. Claire has seen Sylar in the cunningness of Gabriel's smile and in the strength of his temper, but she's never _fully _come face to face with Sylar**. **Gabriel had never allowed his anger or The Hunger to consume him. He has never permitted the tension resulting from continually fighting his murderous urges to disappear from his shoulders.

Gabriel has _always_ been in control.

Now Gabriel has allowed that control to slip, and Claire witnesses for the first time the strength of The Hunger. She experiences the intensity of her friend's "dark side", and sees the urge to commit murder forming in his eyes. Claire has come face to face with the man who has killed dozens of people, and who once desired nothing more then to cut off her skull and take her power.

Logically she should be afraid, yet she is not. Somehow Claire knows that _Sylar_ would never willingly harm her any more then _Gabriel_ would.

Witnessing this in her eyes Sylar's face relaxes just the slightest amount.

"Thank you for not being afraid of me, Golden Panther." He says, gratitude in his voice.

Sylar's hard gaze returns to Craig, who is wide eyed and pale in his forced position against the wall.

"Did he touch you?" Sylar inquires, the predatory protectiveness returning to his dark voice.

"Yes, but you don't have to worry Sylar. He never got the chance to touch what he was aiming for." Claire says, her voice slightly shaky as she pulls the shard of glass out of her palm, the gash instantly healing.

"Should I kill him? It would be a simple matter to cut off his skull, learn what makes him tick." Sylar inquires calmly as he glances at her, paying no attention to Craig, who currently looks as if he's going to pass out from terror.

"No, that would get us a lot of attention we don't need. You'd get taken out of the field anyway."

That isn't the true reason Claire doesn't want Sylar to kill this man, however much he may deserve it. If Sylar does kill him there's a chance that Gabriel won't be able to control The Hunger. Gabriel could turn back into the serial killer he once was, and Claire won't risk that.

Sylar raises his eyebrow at her, as if to say "your call", before turning back to face Craig, who is still pined against the wall.

"You're really lucky she doesn't want to you dead, otherwise you would be a bloody corpse by now." Sylar whispers in his ear, the deadly rage back in his voice.

"As it is, in addition to drugging her, you also tried to take what she wasn't willing to give you." With a quick movement of his hands Sylar breaks Craig's wrists, smiling when Craig clenches his teeth to keep from screaming.

"Actually, I guess it's lucky for you that you _did_ drug her, because if she had been able reach that knife in her bra strap you'd be missing a hand instead of having a broken one." Sylar continued, a hint of genuine thoughtfulness creeping in beneath the rage.

_How did he know I put my knife there? I'm getting too predictable. _ Claire thinks as she pulls aside her shirt and bra strap to revel the sharp metal. Craig's eyes widened even further as his fear grows, and Claire smiles at him, letting him know that is exactly what she would have done.

"It's fortunate that you didn't rape her. Well it's fortunate for you, I mean. I would have _loved_ to remove your skull and pick apart your brain."

"As it stands, you're still breathing and relativity uninjured." At this Sylar squeezes Craig's broken writs tightly, purposefully grinding the broken bones together. Sylar then uses his telekinesis to dislocate Craig's shoulder, satisfaction gleaming brightly in his eyes at the loud noise the bone makes as it pops out of it's socket.

Sylar loosens his grip, and Claire isn't surprised to see that Craig's hands have already began to swell and turn purple.

"If I was you, I'd get out of here before I decide to kill you after all."

Craig lurches away, frantically pushing people out of the way in his terrified haste to escape.

Claire looks over at Sylar, whom she is expecting to be watching Craig, and instead finds him staring at her, fear and concern in his eyes. Without warning he pulls her into a hug, holding her in a secure, vice like grip against his chest.

"Are you sure you're alright, Claire?" He asks quietly as she puts her arms around him, squeezing him tightly in return.

"Yes." Claire responds, slightly in shock from the unexpected hug.

"This is all my fault." Sylar whispers, his voice angry and chocked with tears.

"How in the ninth level of hell is this your fault?" Claire asks him, assuming her friend is placing the blame on himself out of misplaced guilt.

Instead of responding Sylar's hands tremble and his heart pounds frantically against her ear as he holds her even tighter, burying his face in her hair. Relaxing into his embrace Claire focuses on the feel of her friend's body against hers, listing to the beating of his heart. When it finally begins to slow some minutes later Sylar pulls away, and Claire sees him disappear as Gabriel once again reins in his Hunger.

"What do you say we go to your place and watch _Doom_ or something?" Gabriel asks, clearly trying to cover up the worry in his voice with a casual suggestion.

"Sounds good to me." Claire replies, not missing the way Gabriel's eyes dart around the club or the protective hand placed on the small of her back.

"Were you having a good time until now?" Claire asks him as they reach the doors, the memory of that woman dancing with Gabriel causing that burning sensation to appear in her stomach once again.

Gabriel shakes his head, his hand tightening on her hip as they pass a blond man outside the front door.

"No, the dancing is horrible."

Claire is too busy wondering at the sudden giddy feeling in her stomach to notice when a smile crosses her face, nor when Gabriel smiles to himself as he watches her out of the corner of his eye.

**PART TWO**

It was supposed to be an easy assignment. Go in, take out Eric Doyle, throw a little Power into the mix, and the cat would be in the bag. Then, somehow it all goes terribly wrong. Claire can't remember exactly what happened (PTSD the Pinehurst counselors will tell her), but she knows that they screwed up and Eric Doyle…. got the best of them.

As Claire watches as Gabriel is forced to take off his clothes and experiences being unable to move as hers are ripped from her body, when she feels Gabriel's larger, heavier body cover her own, and feels his erection pressing against her opening, Claire learns what fear is.

Claire sees the horror, revulsion, rage, guilt, and fear in Gabriel's eyes. She feels his grip bruising her arms, feels the blood from a gash on his cheek dripping onto her face, and as she catches sight of Eric Doyle in the background controlling their actions, Claire understands how someone could enjoy killing. She knows how it feels to desire the sensation of blood coating her hands, to see lifeless eyes staring up at her. Claire wants to see terror in Doyle's eyes as she slices his throat or puts a bullet through his skull.

Powerlessness comes in the form of seeing the blood on her thighs and feeling the searing agony as Gabriel pushes past her barrier. It is being unable to speak and yet still screaming _Please stop oh god it hurts stop Gabriel please fight it make it stop please please stop no no no you're hurting me I've never done this before owowowow STOP IT!_

Claire must have blacked out at some point, because the next thing she's aware of is the door banging open, of yells and gunfire and of Gabriel's weight disappearing. She catches sight of Gabriel's face, stark white and still horrified, and briefly wonders what happened to his cut before the darkness takes her again.

**PART THREE**

Ever since the attack happened a month ago she's been trying to reach Gabriel, to tell him that she doesn't blame him and hopes that they can remain friends, if no longer partners.

Four hours ago she had just been released from the Research Lab at Pinehurst. The scientists had acted sympatric about what had happened with Doyle. They said the traditional words, made the right gestures, even assigned her a counselor. Their actions, however told another tale.

Claire had had her blood taken multiple times, she had been hooked up to electrodes, was given stress tests, and was even given small cuts with a scalpel. Claire watched, confused and slightly worried as the scientists spent hours peering at her blood through a microscope, measured her brain and heart rhythms, and almost obsessively recorded the time it took for her to heal.

During all that time, not once had Gabriel come to visit her, nor had she been able to contact him. The counselors told her that they were already treating Gabriel, whom had expressed a desire not to have any contact with her for a period of time. Under normal circumstances Claire would have been suspicious, for it was very unlike him to avoid her, but then again, these weren't normal circumstances were they?

This was made clear every time she closed her eyes and saw Gabriel staring down at her with horror, with every nightmare that caused her to wake up screaming and trying to fight as she felt Gabriel on top of her body _and was finally able to scream_. It was made clear, time and time again, as she vomited, had violent nightmares, experienced flashes of rage at Doyle and Gabriel (logically Claire knew it wasn't Gabriel's fault, but emotionally she couldn't help from blaming him as the memory of _blood, white hot pain, pleasestopohgodnonopleaseno _came back to her again and again). As she flinched away from every touch yet at the same time wanted someone to hold her, and as she felt the almost overwhelming urge to destroy something.

Yes, Claire was reminded over and over again that these weren't normal circumstances.

After Claire had been released from the lab she had been more then ready to go home, to contact Gabriel and make him talk to her for two minutes at the very least, but just as she reached the doors one of the doctors stepped in front of her, delaying her exit.

"How are you doing Miss. Bennet?" the physician asked, his dark eyes concerned.

"I'll be fine." Claire said tightly, really just wishing that the doctor would get the out of her way and leave her alone.

The man nodded, the gesture appearing automatic as he reached for something in his lab coat.

"Well, I thought I should let you know that Sylar has left the company as well as the state, which is good riddance if you ask me.."

The rest of his words were drowned out as a blank buzzing filled her mind.

_Gabriel had… left? No that wasn't possible. Gabriel was still her friend and she needed him and anyway he wouldn't leave without telling her first so obviously this man had been listening to rumors and,_

Through the fog that her brain had descended into a few of doctor's words reached her, muffled and not fully registering.

"There's something else…. Don't know how it's possible… so sorry… the termination can be scheduled for next week if you.."

Claire felt herself nodding, and taking the large envelope that was being held out to her she began to walk, her brain knowing the way home even though Claire was too enveloped by shock to realize where she was heading.

Now Claire sat on her bed, staring blankly at the phone, the operators' words echoing through her mind. "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected."

She remained there, unmoving and unaware as the day passed and the sun set. Her mind was blank as the sensation that both her heart and vital organs had been ripped from her body intensified until, hours later, she vaguely wondered why there was no blood. Surly this type of pain had to mean that she had been impaled through the chest with a metal bar or had her limbs cut off. There had to be some tangible reason why she was experiencing this level of pain – No. This was far beyond pain. This was agony. – that made a mockery out of anything she had ever experienced.

Claire had thought she had experienced every type of pain the universe could throw at her. She had been burned alive, gotten shot and had stuck her own hand in a garbage disposal. Claire had received a broken neck, coughed up shards of glass, and suffered the pain of rape.

All of that had been physical pain however, pain that was only briefly felt and then quickly forgotten.

As the tidal wave of emotional agony of being abandoned by the one person whom she trusted and relayed on, the one individual she was comfortable with, and who was her only friend finally registered, Claire knew she had never truly felt pain until this moment.

The contents of the envelope, along with the small piece of plastic with a double line through the screen, was forgotten.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Just the plot is mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Four**

**PART ONE**

Pregnant.

The word reverberates through her stunned mind as she stares at the tiny double lines on the pregnancy test. How can she possibly be pregnant? Every shred of evidence, from blood work to medical examinations, to the study of how her genetic DNA combined with the DNA that made up her power had all come to the conclusion that she would never be capable of carrying a child. It was theorized that her power would force her body to see a fetus as an injury or illness and attempt to "cure" it.

Obviously the doctors and scientists had overlooked something, some tiny strand of DNA or a pervious theory, for the paperwork that came with the pregnancy test shows that she is at least a a month along.

What is also obvious to Claire is that Gabriel is the father.

**PART TWO**

Claire tells herself that Gabriel will call, that soon she will hear her friend's voice on the other end of the line (weather the it's warm and golden honey tones of Gabriel or the rich, dark liquid ones of Sylar she doesn't care). Claire hopes that he will write her a letter, that she will open an envelope and see Gabriel's neat penmanship there on the page. When she returns from the store or Pinehurst Claire always expects to approach her door and see Gabriel leaning against it as he waits for her, remorse on his face and an explanation ready for her to hear.

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, as a rounded bump takes the place of her flat stomach, as Claire experiences strange hunger cravings and her breasts swell with milk, as the baby begins to move inside her, Claire stops hoping to hear Gabriel's voice, to see his tall form or witness the black strokes of his pen across a page.

**PART THREE**

Claire rationalizes Gabriel's' leaving by telling herself that it doesn't matter. She tells herself that she always knew he was going to at some point, so now that he has it's really no surprise. Claire says that of course Gabriel would leave after raping her, regardless of weather or not it was forced by Eric Doyle, because what sane person would stick around after something like that? Claire makes herself believe that even if Gabriel knew she was pregnant he still would have left, after all her friend surly wouldn't want to aknowdgle a child that came from such a horrible event, much less that the mother is a woman that he has strictly platonic feelings for. Claire tells herself that she feels nothing.

She refuses to aknowdgle the emotions that swirl within her like whirlpool, that rise up as strongly as a tidal wave and that burn like acid inside of her.

Claire shoves down the desire to beat Gabriel until he lays at her feet, broken, bruised, and bloody. She doesn't admit that she wants to claw every inch of skin off his body, that she wants to feel her fists striking his body or see her own hands tightening around his throat. Claire claims that she doesn't want to hear him say "I'm sorry" as bruises form on his skin. Claire denies that she wants to cause him as much pain as he is causing her.

She denies that she wants to scream until her throat is raw, torn, and bleeding, until her vocal cords are incapable of healing, and the soul numbing pain that seems to have become a permanent part of her being has disappeared. _You fucking bastard! Why did you leave, you swore you wouldn't! I hate you, why did you do this to me! How could you do this to me? Don't you care? You left me, you left your child! You're just like your father you worthless bastard! I hope you burn in hell!_

When Claire wakes at night to find her face soaked with tears and her throat so tight she can hardly breathe, she tells herself that she was dreaming about Eric Doyle. She pretends that the aching, raw, bleeding hole in her chest is because she was dreaming about the rape, not because she expects to see Gabriel laying on the other side of the bed, watching her with eyes that are dark with worry.

Claire ignores that tiny, broken voice inside of her that whispers; _Please come back. What did I do? I promise you'll be happy if you stay. I'll do better, I'll be better. Come back, oh please come back. I love you. I need you._

As memories come back to her in the form of dreams, Claire claims that they mean nothing, that they are just random events that her mind is stringing together. She ignores what her subconchies is attempting to tell her, the similteries it's trying to force her to see, the long buried emotions that have gone unaknowdgled for years.

"_I promise I'll be there for your school play, Claire-bear" her dad says she leaves for school that morning. That night eight year old Claire looks out at the audience and sees her mother, a smile fixed on her face as she pointedly ignores the empty chair beside her. As the night goes on, as the trees, fairies, and butterflies say their lines and dance across the stage, no one knew that the small blonde girl underneath the rock was crying._

_Ever since Claire found out she was adopted she wanted to meet her birth parents. She told herself that they both loved her and hadn't wanted to give her up. She thinks that they will want to be a part of her life, that they will want to know what she is like and be concerned about what type of boys she dates. When Meredith leaves the country only a few days after meeting her and as Claire finds out that Meredith was only using her to get money out of her birth father, she wants to ask " What's wrong with me?" _

_Claire thinks that her birth father will be better, but as Nathan is easily talked out of meeting her, when he refuses to tell of her existence to anyone, even his wife, when he doesn't even want to know if she is happy, Claire wants to scream; "Why don't you want me?" _

_The night that she learns that Gabriel has left Claire sits on the bed where, only a year ago, Gabriel had held her as she cried over the death of her father. Now she stares at the dresser opposite her blankly. Her mind is empty except for a thought that repeats over and over. "Why did you lie?"_

**PART FOUR**

Claire finds a large loft for sale across town. She posts an add for her apartment online, selling it within in hours to an anonymous buyer out in California. She moves out of her apartment a week later, taking only her clothes and books and leaving everything from the dishes in the cupboard to the chairs in the living room. As Claire drives to her new loft, which her stepmother had fully furnished for her two days ago, she tells herself that she is moving because the loft has a better heating system and has more space for when the baby begins walking. All this is true, but the real reason Claire moves, the reason that she won't admit to herself, is a lot more personal then heat and floor space.

Claire moves because she hopes that she will no longer see Gabriel sleeping in her bed or sitting at her kitchen table.

She hopes new surroundings will make it more difficult to hear the sound of his laughter, to hear him talking on her phone or commenting on the National Geographic channel .

Claire hopes that she will have trouble feeling his hand upon her back or his arm across her shoulders.

Claire moves because regardless of how much she cleans her bathroom, the sent of his soap and hair gel still linger in the room.

Claire leaves because she knows that in a new place she won't find Gabriel's books, clothes, CDs, shampoo, dishes, DVDs, murals, and furniture intermingling with hers.

Claire hopes that by removing the life sized murals from her sight, she will have difficulty remembering those countless instances when she paused in her own painting to watch Gabriel as he worked intently on perfecting the fur of a cat or the texture of a rose petal.

Claire feels that if she has new furniture and floors she will no longer see the smile on Gabriel's face when she noticed, after two years that their styles had simply integrated to form an apartment that was a perfect combination of both of them.

Claire sells the apartment Nathan bought for her because whenever she is throwing up, she expects to feel Gabriel holding her hair back from her face and see him crouched on the floor beside her.

Claire leaves because of the sharp pain that goes through her body every time she turns around, a brief smile on her face when she hears a passing joke or notices that her stomach is beginning to swell … and Gabriel isn't there.

That night Claire looks around her loft, which is so different from the place that has been her home for so many years that she forgets, just for a moment, that she lives here now. She can find no trace of Gabriel in the plush furniture, the yellow and white dishes, the plain white walls, or the extremely modern kitchen unit.

Claire doesn't see the brown, gray, white and black of Gabriel's dishes nestled in between the bright reds, greens, blues, yellows, and purples of her own, creating a multihued rainbow of ceramic.

In the loft there are no firm, high-backed couches and chairs of tan and white sitting in harmony with plush armchairs of blue and fluffy rugs of lavender.

The kitchen table and chairs within the loft are not shining silver and glass resting atop of a floor of polished ebony. Within the cupboards Earl Gray tea doesn't sit beside French Roast coffee, nor does soy milk coexist with chocolate milk in the fridge.

The bedrooms don't have hard mattresses with covers of crimson and white, nor are the high windows covered in thin white curtains while crystals swing from the curtain rod and create tiny rainbows that dance around the room. There is not an extra large walk in closet with male clothes on one side and female clothes on the other.

Within the study resides a single desk instead of two large desks facing each other, one of maple and one of mahogany. The walls of the study are not lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves that are filled beyond their capacity, while through the second doorway there is no flat screen TV and more DVDs then a Blockbuster.

The walls and ceilings of the loft are absent of the beautiful, hand painted, life sized murals;

_Scarlet rose petals as large as Claire's hand are scattered across the one of the living room walls, while a gorgeous gray tabby cat prowls along the wall of the kitchen , searching for one of the tiny black and white mice that are hiding in the corners of the wall or near the kitchen counter._

_Deep green vines twine around the bookshelves in the study, curling around the shelves as if determined to envelope them. A wolf howling underneath a full moon covers the ceiling of the study, while the deep blue sea submerges the walls of the bedroom in an underwater world. _

_Small purple dragons sore along the walls and ceiling of the apartment, while ruby red dragons perch on the door frames. _

_An alien structure floating in it's own sky expands the length of the ceiling of the movie room, while images of the solar system morph the walls into outer space._

Yes, there is nothing within this loft to remind Claire of Gabriel. Nothing except the child that she can feel kicking madly within her as it seems to sense her unease.

"Shh, it's alright sweetie." Claire says soothingly, automatically rubbing her large belly. Upon hearing her voice the baby calms, resuming it's previously gentle movements, and Claire smiles down at the one reminder of Gabriel that doesn't make her want to cry.

**TBC**

**AN: This chapter is dedicated to ivy83. Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews, and I'm so glad your enjoying this story. You've made my entire week.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer : Plot's mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Five**

**PART ONE**

When she returns to Pinehurst two weeks later Claire removes herself from field work. Instead of tracking and bringing down those whom the bosses tell her to, Claire now holds the position of Criminal Liaison, whose role is to oversee every terrorist case and decide which ones are of main concern.

Removing themselves from the field is standard procedure for every female agent who is pregnant, so that isn't what earns Claire the gossip and whispers that buzz in her ears like a swarm of bees. It's the fact that she is pregnant, and that her partner of the past five years is missing that spurs the rumors. Due to the fact that most of her colleagues are far from stupid, many of them have correctly theorized that Gabriel is the father (although Nathan's name does come up a few times). What no one can figure out however, is _how_ Gabriel became her child's father, nor _why_ he is no longer working for Pinehurst.

The rumors range from _They've been having sex for years, then when she got knocked up he bailed, _to, _He knocked her up with some freaky power he took from some poor guy's skull, and she finally came to her senses and killed the bastard._

For the most part the gossip doesn't bother her, and after a while it dies down until there's nothing more then a few glances here and there.

It's what occurs in the break room one day that finally gets to her.

Claire is sitting in a corner, eating a tuna sandwich at one of the tiny tables, when Agents Anderson and Broyce walk through the door. When she spots them Claire instantly feels her stress level rise.

Robert Broyce is a tall, thin, middle aged man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He's never done anything to Claire personally, but he is always hanging around Anderson, agreeing with what he says and playing along with his comments and jokes.

Joseph Anderson is about seven years older then her, very attractive and tall with dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a well developed body. He is also one of the most arrogant, pompous, sexist, selfish, egocentric, and disgusting people Claire has ever had the misfortune to meet. Anderson has been after her to sleep with him for years, appearing baffled by her first ten polite refusals, then stunned when she told him to "get bent". For the past couple of months he's been taking it up a few notches by alternating between offering to buy her dinner and insulting her, causing Claire to file a sexual harassment complaint against him.

"So how many skulls do you think Sylar's removed by now? He's been out from under Pinehurst's thumb for four months now." Anderson says, speaking at the top of his voice.

"I'm guessing a couple dozen. We'll most likely get the order to bring him in this afternoon." Broyce replies.

Claire automatically pushes down the lingering surge of protectiveness she feels at the slander against Gabriel, and stares hard at a stain on the table, trying to distract herself by forming a design out of the unidentifiable residue. Despite this attempt, Claire is actually aware of the two men as five years of training cause her other senses going into overdrive as she automatically tracks the threat that these men represent.

Anderson and Broyce head over to the counter and stir some instant coffee into mugs, still conversing.

"Now that he's out of the way, you think I've got a chance at banging Bennet?" Anderson questions mock casually, as he stirs coffee powder into his mug.

Broyce looks over at Anderson, the expression in his eyes suggesting that he's questioning his friend's sanity.

"She's pregnant man!"

"So what?" Anderson says, shrugging. "She's still hotter the hell, plus I'll bet she's dyeing for some action. I hear being pregnant gets woman super horny."

As Claire feels her anger rise she can't help herself anymore and lifts her eyes from the table, surveying her surroundings as she does so.

A few people are shifting in their seats or averting their eyes, clearly uneasy with the turn this conversation has taken. Others have their eyes glued to two men, apparently even more into it now that there's some sex talk going on. The only person who seems to not care at all is the newly arrived blonde agent sitting next to the snack machine. Elle Bishop is staring at her hands, appearing to be idly playing with her power as currents of electricity form glowing blue-white spirals around her fingers and wrists.

Broyce scoffs at his friend's remark. "One; that's just a myth. Two: Bennet can't stand you and would twist your balls off if you even lay one hand on her."

Anderson laughs, the sound spilling from his mouth like greasy black oil.

"Well if it melts the ice queen's frozen cunt I don't mind a little roughhousing."

Claire has heard enough and gets to her feet, allowing her chair to scrape loudly against the floor, and begins to gather up her trash.

"Well, do to the fact that Sylar hasn't shown up on my terrorist list, I highly doubt that he's taken up killing again." Claire says, her voice completely calm as she applies a trick she learned from Nathan and Tracy; _Keep your voice calm whenever possible, even if your want to beat the other person to a bloody pulp. In addition to throwing your opponent off their game and giving yourself time to go for their jugular, it will also make you more intimidating then hell._

Feeling everyone's shocked eyes turn toward her (apparently not one of them had realized she was in the room), Claire heads over to the trash can.

"I think you're getting my method's confused with someone else Broyce. I wouldn't twist your friend's balls off, I'd slice them off with a carving knife."

Claire leans casually against the fridge and folds her arms across her chest, enjoying how both Anderson's and Broyce's faces are turning bright red, as if they are being filled with boiling water.

"Get this through your thick skull, Anderson." she continues, allowing a small bit of poisoned honey sweetness to creep in underneath the icy calm of her voice, "I wouldn't let you fuck me if you were paying me two million dollars and garneted me a two hour orgasm. Judging by that rusty old piece of shit you drive, and that it's somehow a known fact around here that you've got a dick the size of my middle finger, I think it's highly unlikely that you could do either."

She begins to walk out of the room, nearly at the door when the muttered "Whore" from Anderson causes her to pause, turning her head around to look at him.

"No, I'm not a hooker. Unlike that redhead I saw leaving your car last week, I have _far _to much self-respect to let you stick anything inside me, much less go down on your worthless excuse of a dick."

The stunned silence of the room lingers behind her, broken only by Elle Bishop's delighted laughter.

Two hours later Claire comes out of the bathroom stall and heads automatically to the sink, only to find Elle Bishop perched on the edge, her legs swinging slightly as she waits for Claire to emerge.

"Nice job, Bennet." Elle remarks without offering up an explanation.

For an insanely stupid second, Claire assumes that Elle is congratulating her on making it to the bathroom without an accident, due to the fact that the baby is constantly pushing on her bladder.

Then Claire realizes that Elle must be talking about something else.

"Why do you say that?" Claire asks cautiously as she watches the other woman's hands for any traces of blue-white light. She is unable to completely forget the last time she saw Elle five years ago, when Elle had used her electric power to attack her and West Rosen while they were flying over 100 feet in the air.

"You finally stood up for yourself and terrified the hell out of Anderson, as well as most of the people in that room. I'm serious Bennet, that was some really freaky crap you pulled."Elle replies with a wide, slightly insane smile.

"I know how to take care of myself."Claire responds, not really surprised or offended that Elle had thought that she couldn't look out for herself. The last time they had met, Claire had been 16, immature, and more helpless then a kitten with a broken leg.

Elle hops down from her perch on the sink, appearing to only now have noticed that Claire is waiting to wash her hands, and side steps to stand next the stall.

Claire heads over to the sink and turns on the water, watching Elle out of the corner of her eye. Elle is looking at the water nervously, and as Claire sticks her hands underneath the flow Elle rubs her arms.

"I'm aware of that, believe me." Elle says, wearily watching the water streaming from the faucet. " It's just from what I've heard, when Sylar was here the protection seemed to have been 50/50. You would allow the other to fight their own battles, but neither of you were above leaping in, killer mode on high, to protect the other either."

"What's your point?" Claire asks sharply, ruthlessly shoving down some unidentified emotion that she feels rising at the mention of Gabriel.

Elle puts her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and shrugs.

"I don't have one, really. I'm just pointing out that before you partially relied on Sylar to… take care of you, in a sense anyway. Now you're learning to relay on yourself."

Elle's tone suggests that she is commenting on something as important as the color of the wall, and Claire isn't sure if Elle is complimenting her, trying to get under her skin, or simply stating a random bit of information for the heck of it.

Elle speaks again before Claire can respond, abruptly adopting a tone that is thoughtful as well as hesitant.

"Ever since I can remember I was always taught that you should relay on yourself, because you can't trust others not to hurt you. Now I'm wondering if it's not such a bad thing, especially if the one you're relying on is willing to die for you."

Claire glances away to rip a paper towel out of the container, and when she looks up Elle is gone.

**PART TWO**

Claire watches the form of her nine month old child on the ultrasound, feeling her love for this tiny person strengthen even further. Claire has yet to change her baby's diaper or felt their small fingers gripping hers. She hasn't held them, felt them feed from her breast, and isn't aware weather her child's a girl or a boy. Claire doesn't know weather her child will be fascinated by the bright yellow walls of their nursery, nor what color their eyes will be, but Claire already knows that there is nothing that she wouldn't do for her child. As she drifts into sleep Claire wonders how it's possible to love someone so much.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer : Recognize it? Not mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Six**

**PART ONE**

The date of the baby's birth passed two weeks ago. Claire is becoming worried, for although the doctor assured her that this is common, she can't help but feel scared.

What if she was meant to give birth before now, but her power is preventing all of the necessary shifting and tearing that the birth process requires? What if she goes into labor, only to have her power heal her body before the baby even begins to enter her cervix? Would they be able to save her child through a C section before it suffocates inside her? Is it even possible for her child to die as long as the unbiblical cord is still attached, allowing her blood, and possibly her power by extension, to run through her baby?

As her panic and stress mounts, Claire is unprepared for the blinding, white hot pain that grips her lower body without warning.

_Oh god, why the hell did I want this to happen? _Claire shrieks mentally as what feels like every single muscle in her pelvis, vagina, and lower back is set on fire and seized by a thousand Charlie horses.

As a fresh wave of fire courses through her Claire involuntary bites through her lip, fighting to control the scream that is fighting to escape. Sinking her teeth still deeper into her lip and unaware of the blood streaming down her chin, Claire attempts to reach the kitchen counter where the phone is located. She only makes it three steps however before new waves of agony shoots through her pelvis, forcing her to sink to the floor.

Claire is terrified as she leans against her armchair, because surly this isn't normal. The white hot fire and contractions that come one after another in an endless wave can't be what labor usually feels like right?

All of a sudden Claire wants her mom there beside her, she wants Tracy or even Elle Bishop in the room with her. She wants someone, _anyone_ to hold her hand and tell her it's going to be ok. Claire wants – "Gabriel!" she gasps desperately, the pain and fear rushing through her causing her to speak his name for the first time in months.

_Gabriel where are you? I need you! Please, I'm so scared. Something's wrong, I know something's wrong! Oh please come back. I need you. Please, please. _

Through the sweat pouring into her eyes Claire sees her front door being shoved open, and for a single second Claire thinks it's Gabriel as she sees the dark head of hair. But then the person is rushing toward her and Claire sees that it's an Asian man wearing a paramedics' uniform.

"I'm a paramedic ma'm," He informs her as he sinks to his knees in front of her. "Your neighbor heard you screaming and called 911. Let's see what we can do about this baby, alright?" The man says, his voice low and calm, forcing some of the fear out of Claire.

The next hour is a red filmed haze of pain, blood, sweat, and fear, until finally Claire feels the baby leave her body.

Claire closes her eyes and rests her sweat soaked head against the wall, gasping loudly as she feels the pain beginning to fade as her body already begins to repair her torn and stretched muscles. It is due to the volume of her gasps that Claire doesn't notice the paramedic completely filling a large syringe with clear liquid.

When Claire feels the sharp prick of a needle in her arm she doesn't react, assuming the paramedic is giving her morphine. Almost as soon as the drug enters her system Claire feels very drowsy, her limbs feel like lead, and all of a sudden Claire just wants to sleep. Upon hearing a short, shrill cry Claire opens her eyes to blearily see the paramedic rise to his feet, holding her child in his arms. Claire tries to rise her leaden arms to single that she wants to hold her baby, but the paramedic simply watches her. As the drug drags her under Claire sees the man's form start to shift, his wide, slanted features morphing into the narrow, oval face of the Uncle whom she has not seen in seven years.It is as darkness overwhelms her vision that Claire remembers she had never screamed.

**PART TWO**

A week has passed. A week filled with tension, anticipation, terror and confusion, and anger.

Claire paces her loft restlessly, grasping random glass objects and fighting the urge to throw them against the wall. Scattered across nearly the entire expanse of the floor are shards of glass that glitter in the bright, artificial lighting. Around the loft the remaining glass objects that have yet to bear the burden of Claire's rage glitter back, as if paying homage to their unfortunate companies, as well as to aknowdgle the possibility of their own impending demise .

_Why would Peter do this? What does he have to gain? _Claire wonders as she paces near her window, not noticing the shards of glass that become imbedded in the soles of her feet._ Whatever it is, it can't possibly be protection from the camps. Peter's not stupid, he knows that kidnapping the president's grandchild would guarantee him a first class ticket. _

Claire suddenly finds herself on the other side of the room near the stove, with no recollection as to how she get there in the first place.When black spots appear in her vision for the fifth time in two hours Claire sinks down onto the chair next to the kitchen counter, roughly rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. Although she won't admit it Claire is exhausted, having only slept about four hours since she had woken up from a drugged sleep and felt the mindless terror upon realizing that Peter had stolen her child.

Fighting against the nearly overwhelming urge to sink into sleep Claire glares at her front door. She would have been out there searching for Peter herself, but Nathan hadn't trusted her and had placed four members of his secret service around her loft (two outside her door and two outside her window) to make sure she didn't leave.

_You can't say Nathan's stupid, that's for sure. _Her biological father may be a self centered, power hungry bastard, but Claire has never been able to say that Nathan has failed to correctly anticipate her every move, at least as far as this situation is concerned.

Feeling her head starting to bob Claire leans her head on her arms. She has no intention of falling asleep, she is just trying to avoid banging her head against the counter.

When her phone rings loudly sometime later Claire jerks her head from her arms, having drifted off into a dreamless dreamland.

"Hello?" she answers, her sleep thickened voice making the word nearly unintelligible. There is silence for a few, seemingly endless moments before Claire hears a voice that she hasn't heard in years.

"I'm sorry." Peter states, his voice horse and remorseful.

Upon hearing her uncle's voice Claire sits bolt upright, the cobwebs clearing instantly from her mind. As she feels her stomach tighten Claire clenches her hand into a fist. _How dare he apologize? How dare Peter simply say "I'm sorry" for kidnapping her child?_

Forcing down her natural response to threaten him, Claire makes an effort to keep her voice calm, for she had promised Nathan that she would try negotiating with Peter first.

"What do you want from all of this Peter? If you give me back my child I swear you will get it."__Claire replies coldly, knowing full well that there is no guarantee that she will be able to get him anything.

"You don't have anything that I could possibly want, Claire. Nothing that Nathan would be willing to give me, at any rate." Peter's voice has begun to sound tense and distracted, as if he were looking for threats around himself while trying to pay attention to their conversation at the same time.

"And you truly don't think that Nathan will be willing to give you whatever it is that you think he's not willing to?", Claire questions, her desperation spilling over into her tone_**. "**_If you want better protection from the camps it will be yours! If you want money you'll be a millionaire by the end of the week!"

Claire knows that her promises are unrealistic. She knows that Peter is able to hear her desperation and fear as clearly as if she were standing next to him. Claire is more then aware that now Peter might realize that he has the upper hand, that he can demand anything of her and may be likely to receive it. Within Claire, millions of years of maternal instinct and seven years of training are engaging in battle.

Within Claire's DNA, within the oldest most primitive areas of her human brain, maternal instinct is resonating through her. It shrieks at Claire to offer Peter more, to offer her own life if that what it takes. It causes the urge to do anything to protect her child course through her blood as strongly as a raging river.

Within Claire's mind, the thought process and reflexes born out of seven years of training, seven years of fighting tooth, nail, and gun to stay out of the camps, seven years of fear, anger, and self-preservation scream against this. They scream against allowing her opponent to so easily gain the upper hand, to control her. They scream against Claire's automatic urge to offer up her life for that of her child's, _against allowing herself to be taken._

Maternal instinct tells the seven years of training to shut the hell up.

"Claire, we both know that Nathan's loyalty to his family only extends so far. He won't give me what I want, any more then he will keep searching for your child." Peter counties, his tone a combination of urgent, sympatric, and patronizing.

"This is Nathan's grandchild we're-"

"Exactly, Claire!" Peter interrupts, his voice taking on a note of greater urgency, as if he is begging her to understand why he deceived her and stole her child. "We are talking about his _grandchild_. What do you think he'd do if he found out that Gabriel is the father? He wouldn't hesitate to send your child to one of the camps, anymore then he would to send me, you, or even Tracy if he thought one of us posed a large enough threat to his career!"

"Give me back my child you worthless son of a bitch, or I swear I will kill you." Claire says, rage and hatred for her uncle causing her voice to become a horse whisper. Claire ignores Peter's climes regarding Nathan, for she already knows them to be the truth.

Peter doesn't respond to the threat, instead quickly launching into what appears to be a pre prepared, well rehearsed speech obviously designed to convince her that he did the right thing.

"Do you really think your child would be better off with you? What if someone learns you're the President's daughter? You know how many our kind hate Nathan, what if someone tries to kill you to hurt him? You're not like anyone else, Claire. Your power makes you different, it makes you special. Do you really think that they would think twice about hurting your kid when they figure out they can't kill you?"

"I don't care what your reasoning's are! I will find you, I will find my child, and I will kill you. I don't care that you're my Uncle. You're nothing to me now Peter!"

"If you try to find the family who has the kid I'll help them run. They can't be involved in any of this."

There is remorse and urgency within Peter's voice, but not the slightest hint of weakness or deception. Claire knows that he is telling the truth. She knows that if they keep searching, if they get any sort of lead, Peter will help them escape. Peter will ensure that the family is so well hidden that not even Molly Parkman will be able to find them.

Claire closes her eyes and breathes deeply, forcing back the urge to threaten her uncle a third time, to plead with him to return her baby. She knows that it will accomplish nothing except possibly force Peter to make the family run, regardless of how close they are to being found.

"The formal search will be called off, but I will never stop looking."

"I didn't expect anything less of you, Claire." Peter says, a strange sort of weary pride entering his voice.

Claire tries one more desperate attempt, voicing a fear that hadn't occurred to her until that moment.

"What makes you think that the family won't hurt my child? How do you know they won't be abusive, especially if they began to show signs of a power?" Claire asks, making sure that her fear is crystal clear in her voice. It doesn't take any effort, all Claire has to do is picture tall faceless figures loaming over a tiny figure with blonde hair, and she feels ready to leap out of her skin.

Peter doesn't replay for about 30 seconds, as if he is thinking carefully about his response.

"I'll be doing regular check ins for one thing. You don't have to worry about that, Claire. They would kill themselves before they'd ever harm your baby." Peter tells her, his voice surprisingly gentle, as if he understands her fear for her child's safety.

Knowing that this may be the last time she is able to receive any information about her child for a long time, Claire asks Peter something that she is desperate to know.

"Please, tell me. Did I have a son or a daughter?" She asks quietly.

"I can't, I'm sorry. I've always loved you, Claire." Peter says, his voice nearlyinaudibleas he cuts off the connection.

As Claire hears the dial tone she rests her forehead on her hand, for the first time in so long experiencing nothing expect bone deep weariness. Knowing that she has to call Nathan to tell him what had occurred within the past five minutes Claire glances at the phone, only to find that she had somehow already dialed his number. Instead of hearing her biological father's voice however, all Claire receives is the busy single.

An hour later when 500 people die in an explosion and Nathan is almost killed, when Peter found out to be the leader of the attack and is labeled as a terrorist, Claire wonders if there was any connection with Peter's long winded speech. At the moment she can't really bring herself to care.

**PART THREE**

There is no address on the envelope that is slid underneath her front door sometime during the night.

The are only two contents within the envelope.

One is a piece of plain white paper with three words in Peter's handwriting.

_I'm so sorry._

Accompanying the note is a picture of a dead baby.

A dead baby with a broken neck.

A dead baby with a broken neck, dirty blonde hair, and brownish – hazel eyes.

Claire falls to the ground, doubling over until her head is touching her floor.

She screams.

Claire doesn't remember when she stopped screaming. The anguished howl rising from within her could have gone on for minutes or hours. She doesn't know who found her crumpled on the floor, the pitchers clenched in her hand. It could have been a neighbor, Tracy, or even a total stranger who was passing by on the street.

Her next memory is of laying in bed, restraints around her ankles and wrists and an IV in her arm. She opens her eyes to see Nathan and Tracy sitting on the bed, their eyes dark, with either concern, fear, or grief Claire doesn't care. She doesn't care that for some reason she has become dangerous enough to be restrained, that Nathan and Tracy both have bruises and deep scratches on their faces, or that for the first time that she can recall her parents are spending more then three minutes with her.

She is numb.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Not money is made.**

**Section One: Chapter Seven**

**PART ONE**

Claire goes back to Pinehurst. When Daphne Parkman asks eagerly about the baby, Claire flatly replies that her baby is dead. Daphne's face takes on an expression of shock and sympathy, and when she moves forward, arms wide as if to hug her Claire backs away. She doesn't want anyone to touch her.

The news that her baby is dead spreads through the building like wildfire. Over the next few days Claire's inbox becomes full of unopened emails, her coworkers stop by her cubicle to offer up their awkward apologies, and ten flower bunches make their way onto her desk.

Claire says "Thank you" to those that stop by, not because she feels gratitude, but because she knows that is what is expected of her.

She works on terrorists reports, steadily making her way through the mountain of paperwork because that is what her current position tells her that she must do.

Claire dose not eat lunch, both because she is not hungry, and also because no one appears to expect that of her.

At the end of the day Claire goes to train, her body moving on autopilot as she hits the target with her either her knife or gun, as she flips, dodges, runs, weaves, ducks, kicks, and hits, and as she beats the crap out of her opponents and gets the crap beaten out of her in turn.

After training Claire goes home to the new apartment that Tracy bought for her, and crawls into bed.

Throughout everything, Claire has felt nothing.

**PART THREE**

Claire has been put in charge of the hunt for Peter. For the most part it is dull work, mostly consisting of looking at maps, following up on leads or sightings that turn out to be ghosts, and attempting to find those who are suspected of working with him. Ever since the last attack Peter has made no other moves, and if he were anyone else they would have given up a long time ago and turned their attention to someone more relevent. But when someone with illegal inborn powers explodes eight government buildings, kills over a thousand people, nearly murders the President, and frees 300 "dangerous" prisoners from transport planes?Then they're going to become Pinehurst's, Danko's, and the Government's top poritiey faster then it takes Daphne Parkman to run around the block and for longer then it takes a turtle to crawl across New York.

So Claire works the 150 people under her command harder then anyone in Pinehurst, forcing them to thoroughly look into anything to matter how small it may seem or regardless of weather or not they think it's relevant. Their schedules run in three shifts, beginning at 6:00 in the morning and ending at 11:00 at night, at which point the rotating shift takes over. The only breaks they receive are an hour, one rotation at a time, for training. The member's of her team may grumble and complain at the long hours, the lack of sleep, or the forced thoroughness, but not one of them accuses Claire of not being damn good at her job. Claire is at Pinehurst almost constantly, sometimes for 82 hours straight as she completes paperwork, maps, bounces theories around with the team members, triple checks everything she is brought, and has four of her employees check what she has just completed for anything she overlooked. Sometimes it is almost as if she is obsessed as she downs coffee like water and works herself harder then her any of her people.

**PART FOUR**

Within Pinehurst there are generally three reactions toward Peter.

The first attitude is one of anger and hatred. This view mostly originates from those who have a "purchased power", who are outraged that a "freak of nature is able to contaminate the country with their disgusting presence and murder such fine, upstanding people."

These coworkers remain unaware that over 80% of their colleagues are those with inborn powers, or that every single one of Peter's strikes have been against buildings, organizations, and individuals like them. Against those who would love nothing more then to see those with inborn powers slaughtered or experimented upon like the Jewish people of Nazi Germany. Against those who think that those of Claire's kind are nothing more then animals, who enjoy either the terror in the eyes of the captured or perform experiments on them because they believe they are doing "the right thing".

They hear that 300 prisoners have been freed and they are outraged, not knowing that those prisoners have likely done nothing wrong, not caring that the most dangerous among them is able to speak to sheep, and not understanding that one of those people could have been their sister, husband, best friend, or even their daughter.

It could have been their 13 year old daughter that was in danger of feeling the agonizing lash of a whip upon her back, her screams of pain and pleads for mercy remaining unheeded even as her blood formed a scarlet pool beneath her. Their beloved baby sister who would never dream of hurting a fly may have suffered herounders disfiguring expermation and serve physcogacil torture, all because she could levaite two inches above the ground. The spouse of 15 years or the steadfast friend since third grade could have been one of the lucky ones who were put into a medically induced coma or executed upon the arrival to the camp.

It dose not compute with individuals like Joseph Anderson, that one day they may come home from work or the store and discover that someone they love has simply vanished.

So those coworkers feel anger, hatred, and disgust toward Peter, his actions, and those whom are born with powers. They desire nothing more then to see them wiped off of the face of the earth, just as the Whites once attempted to do to the Native Americans. They experience these emotions and feel this desire without truly seeing, hearing, or _understanding_.

The second attitude is one of fear. This fear comes from those with inborn powers. It is fear for themselves, that they will somehow be discovered, either by their bigoted coworkers or by a ripple effect caused by one of Peter's actions. They fear that they will be beaten, rounded up, or killed, as if they were a cow on it's way to slaughter. They fear for their family and friends, for the treatment they will face if they are discovered to be "horrabering an illegal". They fear the life of constantly running, of living in sewers and slums, of constantly looking over their shoulders for Danko's men or those among their own kind that would betray them to save themselves.

They are terrified for their children. Mothers began to watch their nine year old sons more closely then ever before, fearing that they could be ripped, screaming from their arms. Fathers set up secure alarm systems around the bedrooms of their two month old daughters and began to sleep in the room, terrified that she will be stolen out of her crib during the night.

For six years thousands upon thousands of Claire's kind have worked for Pinehurst regardless weather or not their moral code matches up, because working for this organization is the only way to ensure that neither they nor their families will be sent to the camps. Their service is the only guarantee that they will not be hunted down like an animal after they leave Pinehurst, that they will never experience the burn of a taser or the dehumanizoning sensation of a black bag over their head, as if simply by existing they were not allowed the right to an identity, to the rights that being a American Citaztion granted them under consatuational law.

The third and final attitude is hope. Hope that Peter's actions will start a revolution for their kind, hope that they will no longer have to live a life of constant fear and _decimation_, hope that soon they will regain the rights that all human beings are entitled to. The right to feel safe in their home, the right to the safety of themselves and their children, and the right to not be seen as an animal.

Claire however, has none of these reactions.

Claire's need to capture Peter has become an obsession. It burns inside her like a blazing house fire, consuming her thoughts and causing her to follow up on every lead, every sighting, regardless of how small it may be. It forces her to push herself for days at a time, until her vision blurs and her body aches with exhaustion. As the image of Peter standing over her with her newborn child in his arms and the photograph of her child dead from a broken neck flash through her mind, they rise her obsession even further. This obsession is not exactly an emotion, for even if Claire did not have this numbness inside of her she would not be able to say what emotion she would be feeling.

What she does know, is that Peter must _pay_.

**PART FIVE**

Claire is standing next to the water cooler, debating weather or not to eat the disgusting Power Bar she'd just gotten from the snack machine. As she stares at the pathetic excuse for food in her hand, Elle Bishop suddenly materializes beside her, arriving as silently as if she had teleported.

That in itself is nothing new. Elle appears to have a natural ability to move as silently as a cat, seeming to find enjoyment in how her sudden appearance scares most of her colleges senseless.

What is new is her current manner, clothes, and hairstyle.

Where Elle would normally have spoken to Claire the second she arrived, now she is silently staring at her, her blue gaze guarded. Her stance is unusually tense and self concheis, quite unlike her normally cauhual and confident demeanor. Instead of wearing a long sleeved shirt and jeans, Elle is dressed in a form fitting blue halter top and black shorts. Claire has only ever observed Elle's long, wavy hair spilling down around her shoulders, but today her hair is up in a ponytail, shifting from snowy white to light gold as the sunlight pouring in through the window shines on her.

"Hey, Bennet, do you want to train with me?" Elle finally asks Claire, her tone direct but awkward as well, as if she hasn't had a lot of experience with casual conversing.

Claire doesn't respond imeadtely, her attention momentarily caught by what Elle's new clothing and pulled back hair reveals. Covering her arms and extending to her shoulders, splashed along the length of her legs, curling around her neck and jaw and ending on the sides of her face are smooth, bright red burn scars.

Claire wonders dispassionately how she had missed such an obvious injury, then she realizes that Elle's clothes normally consist of shirts with long sleeves that extend to the middle of her hands, and pants that completely cover her legs. Her hair is always worn loosely, obscuring her neck and the sides of her face. Did Elle do that deliberately in an attempt to hide her scars? Possibly, if the horrified double takes that her colleges are sending her way are anything to go by.

Apparently taking Claire's silence for negative deliberation Elle continues, her words becoming faster as if she is trying to force them out before they get stuck in her throat.

"I know you used to train with Sylar most of the time, and he had defensive powers like I do. So I thought maybe you'd like to spar with me, because exercise is supposed to help when you suffer a loss and I heard that as your colleague I'm supposed to try to make you feel better so-"

"Sure, I'll train with you." Claire interrupts the almost incomphensable diougle, her voice monotone. "If I don't practice with someone for four hours a week my training won't count anyway."

Elle lets out a sigh of relief at Claire's consent, some of the awkwardness disappearing from her frame as she and Claire head to the gym.

Over the next few weeks she and Elle train together. They practice their boxing and martial arts, Claire landing much more hits then Elle, even as tiny sparks occansaily burn her skin and throw off her aim.

They circle each other with harmless replicas of their knifes, carefully looking for openings and dodging the other's attempts at mortal wounds.

Elle hurls her elecatirty at her, which Claire dose her best to avoid. Sometimes she secedes, in which case another bolt is quickly thrown at her before she can fully regain her bearings, and other times the bolts hit her dead on, burns appearing on her body or her clothes catching fire.

The first time that occurred Elle started toward her, an expression almost like concern appearing in her eyes.

"I'm fine." Claire said quickly, even as her clothes lay in a pile of ash at her feet and she gritted her teeth against the pain as her blackened flesh healed itself.

Elle hesaited for a moment, watching Claire heal with narrowed eyes before nodding, aiming her elecaitry at Claire again. After Claire is burned black on six separate occasions, she notices that the bolts hitting her seem to be of a lower voltage; her skin burns red instead of black, and her cloths become scorched as opposed to ash. Claire doesn't say anything because she has also noticed that Elle becomes uncomftable at the sight of Claire's still alive body blackened to a crisp.

Claire doesn't know what to make of an Elle Bishop that's… concerned for her well being, well concerned for Elle anyway, which consists of an expression between tense and annoyed and waiting until Claire has mostly healed before shooting again.

So Claire pretends not to notice when the colors of her burns change and that expression disappears from Elle's face. She also pretends not to notice when instead of cringing from the physical pain, she actually begins to look forward to it. It is not that Claire is becoming a mashiost, but pain is one of the only things that she actually _feels_ anymore, that isn't submerged by that numbness. That wave after wave of agony that races up her arms or torso, that spreads across her face and back in an all consuming blaze reminds Claire that she used to experience sensation. The sight of her skin burned away, leaving bright red patches and huge blisters that throb and pulse allow her to know that despite everything that has been stolen from her, she still has this one thing. The sickening order of her charred hair and raw skin remind Claire that she is still able to be hurt, that she can still feel _something_.

That pain and everything that accompies it is one of the few things that remind her that she is still human.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer : Plot is mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Eight**

**PART ONE**

It has been one year since Sylar left, six months since Peter stole her child, five months since she found that envelope, and four months since she returned to Pinehurst.

Claire has begun to notice something. She is beginning to feel emotions again, only they are muted, as if they are trapped beneath thick, murky water and are not able to break the surface. Sometimes she will feel an emotion trying to rise, but no matter how close it gets it is never able to break the surface of the numbness. Claire doesn't know if she is pushing it down subcouchinsely or if it simply isn't strong enough to break free. She wonders what it says about her mental state that she can't truly bring herself to care.

**PART TWO**

Claire has begun dreaming about the rape again, but it's different now.

_Claire can still feel someone on top of her body, can still hear herself screaming, but now she knows the person on top of her isn't Gabriel. _

_Gabriel is standing off to the side, watching as she is raped with cold dead eyes, taking no notice as she pleads with him to help her. _

"_You promised Gabriel! You promised!" Claire screams at him, tears streaming down her face. _

_Just as before, Gabriel says nothing. He merely shakes his head. _

_As Claire watches Gabriel morphs into Peter, whose eyes are now filled with sympathy, but Peter does not help her either. Instead he turns away, and as he does so Claire suddenly notices a small bundle in his arms._

_As Claire's dream self notices the small bundle she suddenly feels the hot, hard, pulsing length inside her, she can feel rough pubic hair stimulating her cilt. As the person thrusts into her harder and faster Claire is dragging her nails down their back, pleading with them to go harder while at the same time begging them to stop because she doesn't want this and she needs to find Peter before something happens to that small bundle. Claire hears the low grunts of the person on top of her, and just as her orgasm crashes through her Claire looks up, and sees Gabriel's face._

It is at this point that Claire awakens. She will lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling, breathing harshly. Unlike before there are no tears on her face, nor is there the sensation of a gapping hole through her chest. What is there is arousal, still causing a thrumming pulse between her legs and pajamas that are soaked down to the middle of her thighs.

What is also there is an emotion trying to break through the wall of numbness. Claire doesn't know what emotion it is, but she shoves it back down nevertheless.

After about a half hour Claire will get up and go for a run on her treadmill. She will run until sweat is running down her face and her lungs burn, until her legs ache for more then a few seconds and she can hear her heart pounding in her ears.

She will run until she has completely extuingshed the last of that nameless emotion that she can feel simmering just below the surface, like water about to boil over the edge of a pot.

**PART THREE**

As the months pass and she and Elle continue to train, Claire realizes that she has begun to feel…. well not better, at least not in the emotional sense. It most likely has something to do with either the adrenaline rush, the rigorous excise her body and mind are receiving, or perhaps it's the simply that she is training with someone for the first time in over a year, but whatever the reason Claire notices that she feels… looser. It's as if one knot out of the thousands inside of her as been loosened just the slightest amount. If this "knot" is an emotion it is not strong enough to rise past the barrier of nearly continues numbness, but they very fact that it has been loosed? That must mean something good, right?

**PART FOUR**

One morning when she comes into work Claire enters her cubicle to find a large, official looking envelope in her Personal Mail box. She opens it, expecting to find a message from Nathan, or perhaps a notice replaying to her request to be allowed to go into the field whenever they receive a lead on Peter. Instead what Claire sees is a letter from a realastate agent, informing her that someone has bought her family's old house in Costa Verda, California.

Claire doesn't know why she is being informed of this, but any speculation is abruptly driven from her thoughts as a two short lines of bolded print catches her eye.

**Current Owner: **_**Gabriel Gregory Gray**_

**Current Status of Inhabitation: **_**Unoccupied **_

When she sees the identity of the one who has bought her old house, at first there is a blankness filling her mind, and then that emotion that she has felt underneath her numbness, that she has felt ever since Gabriel left and Peter stole her child spikes strongly.

As Claire feels the strength of the emotion rising she stands abruptly, her chair nearly crashing into the wall behind her, and quickly makes her way to the gym. With each step she takes Claire can feel the emotion becoming stronger, clawing viouscaly at the frozen barrier inside her like a tiger attempting to break free of the chains that are holding it prisoner.

Claire reaches the locker room and yanks her workout clothes out of her locker, pulling them on with movements that are stilted and abrupt.

She enters the deserted exercise room, heading to one of the boxing bags at the far end of the room. She wraps tape around her hands and wrists, then for a moment she just stares at the large bag in front of her.

Just then that unidentified emotion twists violently, and as Claire experiences the sensation of a rope coiling so tightly around her it feels like she is being cut in two, she begins to strike the heavy, unyielding object.

"_The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected" _

The emotion rises still, and Claire's punches grow from short hard jabs to brutal swings.

"_You know you'll never get rid of me, Claire."_

Her fists connect with the bag, striking it hard enough to cause bruises on her fingers and the sharp crack of a breaking knuckle to echo loudly across the empty gym.

"_You really shouldn't have touched her, you know." Gabriel snarls. Only this man's voice is dark and rich, his eyes are cold and deadly and scream destruction…._

The emotion close to overflowing within her, high, roundhouse kicks are now striking the bag with such force that they would break human bone.

Gabriel had taken everything from her.

He had taken his friendship, his promises and his respect for her as easily as he once would have taken her power.

Gabriel had shattered her strength, dignity, and power as Eric Doyle forced him to rape her. True, he had taken these through no fault of his own, but in one day he had taken them from her just as easily as he had once taken the lives of so many.

Gabriel had stolen the comfort that her apartment had once given her, for she hadn't been able to stay there without hearing, seeing, or even smelling him _every fucking minute_.

He had destroyed her knowdgle that someone was willing to die for her, that someone cared weather or not she was sad, happy, or afraid, or that _someone_ finally saw how much blood was pouring from wounds that _never seemed to heal.___

For six years Claire had thought that she had someone who saw everything that was ugly and dark within her, whom she didn't have to be perfect for, someone that had seen her at her worst and who knew all her secrets, and still thought that _she was enough_.

Claire thought that she had someone who would never throw in the towel and say they were done with her, not when her nightmares kept him awake or when she failed at a mission, nor when her dad made it perfectly clear that he would love nothing more then to kill him, or when it had taken a full year before she trusted him.

Claire had assumed that, despite being on the receiving end of her temper more often then she could remember, despite nearly loosing his life for being her partner, and despite witnessing every horrible thing that she had done and knowing exactly what she was capable of doing_, Gabriel would always want her._

Sylar had taken her assumption that he would never hurt her, leave her, or decide to she wasn't good enough and destroyed it.

In the end she had not been enough.

She was never enough was she? No one wanted her, not after they got what they wanted or learned something that was too much for them to comprehend.

Gabriel had taken almost everything from her. The one thing that he had not taken was her child.

Now he had taken her parent's house, the house that he knew she had always wanted to have. The very one that for years she had talked about buying because it held so many memories of her family.

_Why? _

_Why would he do that? _

_Why did he just keep taking and taking from her? _

_What more could he steal/rip/tear away from her?_

_What more could she give him?_

_Why was she never enough?_

As the emotion finally overflows, Claire is able to identify it.

It's anger. No, this is more then anger. It's rage. It is rage that she has not allowed herself to feel in almost a year.

Instead of experincering relief the rage countiues to rise higher and higher until Claire is no longer beating the bag, she's pulverizing it.

Punch after punch, kick after kick slam into the bag with loud thuds and sickening cracks as flesh bruises and bones break, healing instantly only to be damaged again as the motion continues.

As each stab of pain causes her pent up rage to escalate Claire soon ceases to notice the pain or the sensation of her limbs striking the bag. There is not a single thought in her mind, only the rage that burns inside her like a blazing forest fire.

Claire doesn't know how long the rage clouds her mind, but when it finally is extinguished she leans heavily against the wall, her muscles trembling violently as her breath is exhaled in harsh gasps around the sharp pain of a knife embedded in her chest, and salty moisture rolls down her face. Claire doesn't know the exact content of the moisture, for she isn't sure at which point the sweat was joined by tears.

**PART FIVE**

Often times when Claire can't sleep she will automatically shift over to the right side of the bed. She will expect to feel a strong, warm, shirtless body and smell the sent of Ivory soap. Claire expects to hear the familiar deep, even breaths of the man next to her, to taste the flavor of clean sweat on the tip of her tongue, and see the small white scar on the throat of the one laying beside her. When all she encounters is blankets that are cold, empty, and odorless she will stiffen momentarily before returning to the other side, not realizing that as she does so she her nails are digging small half moons into the skin of her stomach.

**PART SIX**

Sometimes Claire wonders how it possible to feel so numb, and yet still feel so much.

She wants to know why, if her entire body is encased in ice, then how can there be a roaring fire hot enough to reduce a building to ash within seconds just underneath that frozen surface?

How is it possible that she doesn't feel fear when, on her way to work that morning six people in the car beside hers were arrested by Danko's men, and yet all it takes is the memory of a needle under her skin and she will spend the next half hour vomiting?

Claire doesn't understand how she can literality feel _nothing_ when a child is killed right in front of her the first time she rejoins the field, but when she hears Peter's name she wants to scream until her throat bleeds.

She can't comprehend why she feels not an ounce of anger when Anderson calls her a whore, and yet as a pair of brown eyes flash through her mind or Claire comes across Earl Gray tea or a misplaced baby jumper? She wants to pound a brick wall into dust and see livid bruises on her hands. She wants to break her body over and over again, until healing is impossible.

Claire wants the pain and evidence of a gunshot wound or a dislocated shoulder to linger, because then she will be able to say "I'm invincible, but I can be hurt.", and have others believe it.

Claire wants the cuts, bruises, stab wounds, and broken bones to remain, because then maybe… just maybe… someone will see her scars.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer : Same as first.**

**Section One: Chapter Nine**

**PART ONE**

The water of the swimming pool in the empty gym of her apartment building is warm, calm, and absent of people.

Claire floats on her back on top of the water, her hair spread out around her like seaweed, and listens to the quiet. The only sound is of the water softly lapping along the edges of the pool, the low hum of the heating system, and the steady rhythm of her own breathing.

She wonders what it would be like to sink underneath the surface, all the way to the bottom, and remain there.

Would the pressure of the water become too great?

Would the weight of thousands of gallons surrounding her compress her body and cause painful popping in her ears?

Would her lungs burn with the necessity for air as the instincent for survival forces panic to build within her ?

Would she be unable to prevent herself from fighting against the crushing weight enveloping her and break the surface, gasping for air and feeling relief as oxygen flows to her brain and that overwhelming weight is finally gone?

It is not that Claire is suicidal, not at all. She does not need a to see a shirnk or write down her feelings in a journal. True, she lost her baby, was left by the one person whom she trusted not to, and couldn't gain her parents approval if she were the most successful person in the world, but that doesn't mean she's crazy.

But Claire wonders if allowing herself to sink, if allowing the water to submerge her and drag her down, if forcing herself to stay there forever would feel better than this.

The feeling of panic that she would no doubt experience has to be better then this sensation of numbness that is broken only by flashes of rage that cause her to force Elle to send increasingly higher volts of elecaitary into her body. That primitive panic brought on by the animal urge to live would surly be better then feeling only the echoes of emotion as they beat against their ice covered tomb deep within her.

The painful burning in her lungs has to be better then the flashes of images and sensations that cause vomit to eat away at her throat or make the hand squeezing her chest tighten even further around her heart and ribs.

The fire that would spread through her may be less painful then the burning hot showers that turn her skin red and raw even as she scrubs harder and harder until blood is breaking the surface. Even when Claire sees the blood running down her body and turning the water pink, she cannot stop scrubbing. She can't stop scrubbing because she's _dirty_ and _disgusting_ and covered in _filth_, and she needs to get _off_. She has to remove it, but no matter how hard she scrubs, no matter how red her skin becomes or how much blood she looses that greasy film that's covering her like a second skin remains.

_Why won't it come off?_

It won't come off because she had wanted it hadn't she? It didn't matter that she was forced or that there was blinding pain and revulsion and terror, because she hadn't made either of them hear her screams and pleads. Doyle had only heard her begging Gabriel to do it harder, only heard the moans and cries wrenched from her throat. They couldn't hear the terrified howling inside her head nor her mental shrieks of agony.

And through it all, that arousal that acompanies the images of Gabriel above her and the sensation of him hard and throbbing inside of her, that makes her want to touch herself yet at the same time stab at the offending flesh? That is her fault as well.

So, yes. The burning within her lungs has got to be better then _that_.

Claire knows that the sound of her ears popping and that _almost _sound of the pressure around her would be better then what she hears now.

Underneath the water Claire wouldn't hear the phantom cries from a child that isn't there, nor the sound of a voice, the breathing, or the laughter of someone that she will never see again.

Claire would not hear her parents telling her that she isn't trying hard enough, that they need to cancel their plans or she isn't doing a good enough job.

Claire wouldn't hear Peter telling her that her baby would be better off without her.

Maybe underneath the water, Claire won't hear that whisper in her mind. That voice that hisses at her like the snake from the Garden of Eden, telling her what she would have once known to be lies, but now… now she isn't so sure anymore.

_You're dirty, disgusting, and worthless Claire. You're never going to be good enough, and it's your own fault, you know. You weren't strong enough to stop it, not any of it. Not Doyle, not Peter, not even Nathan wishing you were never born. _

_Noah lied to you every day didn't he? He never stayed, no matter how much you begged him, no matter what he promised or how tightly you held him. And do you know why? It was because he never loved you, not really. You were just an assignment to him, just the girl with the freaky power that he happened to develop an attachment to. _

_That's like with Gabriel isn't it? He promised not to leave right? How about all those times he'd train with you, go to ballgames and paint murals, or when you'd make breakfast together? He didn't do that because he enjoyed it, you moron. Gabriel did that so you would stop watching him all the time. When he was nearly killed for you or protected you from jerks like Anderson or Craig? It wasn't because he cared, he did it because you were his partner. It was his obligation to have your back. Do you remember all those times that you stood up for him, or every time you killed your target to protect him? You just made him think that he had to repay you. That's why he stuck around you so long, because he felt that he owed you._

_How many times did you touch him anyway? All those times that you would hug him or touch his back or shoulder? You would grab onto his hand and arm like he was your lifeline, and you're aware that repulsed him, aren't you? What about at night, when you'd wrap yourself around him like a fucking octopus? Gabriel would hold you back not because he wanted to, but because he was trying to calm you down so you'd let go of him. All that pathetic clinging coupled on top of the rape? The rape that you enjoyed, (because you did like it didn't you, you little slut), that's what made him realize how much of his time he was wasting with you, how stupid and worthless you really are. _

_And the baby? Why in the hell would he have wanted a child with you? So he can be reminded of what a mistake it was to go on that mission? You deserve every ounce of pain, because you didn't do a damn thing when Peter gave you that drug did you? No, you just sat there and allowed him to take your baby. What kind of mother would you have made? My god, Meredith would have looked like mother of the year next your worthless hide._

As for the crushing weight of the water that would envelope her, Claire doesn't wonder about that. She doesn't wonder because she already feels that weight every second of every day. The only difference would be that underneath the water, the weight would be external as well as internal.

So Claire floats on top of the water, her hair spread out around her, and dose not sink beneath it.

But she wonders, maybe… just maybe… if she would feel better if she did.

**PART TWO**

Claire stands in the lobby of the Deveaux building, seeking shelter from the ragging blizzard. She looks out at the ferric wind that's causing the snowflakes to twirl madly through the air, the small white specks resembling ballet dancers on meth as they swirl and dance widely about on the currents. She imagines the below freezing tempture outside and contemplates the long walk home, pondering weather or not it would be worth sleeping in the lobby instead of facing the frost bite inducing cold.

As Claire pulls her coat tighter around herself the overhead light shines on her nails, casting a relefective gleam on their surface.

Until two years ago her nails would always be shimmering with color. One would probley expect, as the President's daughter, that her nails would be done professionally with elaborate designs and colors. That had not been the case. Claire always did her nails herself, and the polish had never been anything special. She had bought it from a local drug store, the shades mostly ranging from light pink to lavender, or to polish that was clear with flecks of glitter.

She once heard that the color of your nails says a lot about your personality. For instance, yellow meant that were a happy, compassionate, and optimisic person, while black signified that you were prone to depression anxiety, and negativy.

If asked which color she uses now, Claire wouldn't say that she uses black, red, or even lavender.

Her nails are unpolished nowadays, the clear and smooth surface free of glitter or hues other then that of her skin.

She doesn't know what that revels about herself, if it revels anything at all. Does an absence of color mean that she is a blank slate, completely devoid of personality or emotion? Does it mean that she is capable of being whatever anyone wants her to be, weather that is a happy-go-lucky waitress or a cold blooded serial killer? Are her colorless nails telling her something that she is too ignorant to understand, something that is essential to who she is as a person?

Perhaps she's simply overanalyzing it, the lack of color meaning only that she has no interest in painting her nails.

Claire suddenly feels the first stirrings of tiredness settling over her, causing her eyes to feel gritty and her body to sag against the wall. For the first time she notices that there is nothing more then a few tables within the marble lobby, and although she is no stranger to sleeping on hard and cold surfaces, she doesn't like to do so unless it's an absolute necessity.

Claire exists the lobby, feeling the cold wind whip her hair away from her face and the snow pummeling her body, sharp tiny daggers that leave stinging flecks of melting liquid as they make contact with her skin. She begins the long walk back to her apartment, her unpainted nails shoved deep into her coat pockets.

**PART THREE**

Technaily it's Christmas morning, even though the sky is still pitch black, the sun having yet to rise.Claire is standing at her kitchen counter, a mug of instant coffee in her hand, her blonde hair tousled and sleep mussed. Her green eyes are heavily lidded, and she takes a long pull of the absolutely horrible coffee, not caring about the scaling heat of the liquid nor the blisters that form on her tongue. As of right now she doesn't even mind the taste of the "coffee", not when she has been awake for the past four days flying across the world, following up on sightings that lead them to France, Spain, Italy, and finally to Ireland.

This time, after two long years of following up on false sightings, maps that lead nowhere, endless amounts of paperwork, and two more bombings that released 2,000 prisoners, the sightings had been real. They had taken eyewitness accounts, interviews, even used telepathy to read the minds of those they talked to in order to be sure they were getting the truth. For all of that however, Peter was always two steps ahead of them, arriving at and leaving the next location before their plane had even landed.

When Claire arrived home at 2:30 am she had fallen straight to sleep, not even bothering to remove her cloths. Seeing as it was now 5:30 in the morning, a scant three and a half hours since she fell into bed, Claire should still be bundled up under soft warm covers and dreaming a dreamless sleep. Unfourantly for her she was woken up 15 minutes ago by the shrill ringing of her phone. Claire had stumbled out of her warm, cozy nest and attempted to locate the accursed object that had awoken her (running into several walls and falling over her couch in the process), finding it just on the last ring.

Which was why she was now standing in her kitchen, drinking caffeine that would have no effect whatsoever upon her system, holding the phone up to her ear and hearing the voice of her biological father on the other end. Nathan has called not to wish his daughter a Merry Christmas or ask how she is doing for the first time in a year and a half(What with the trivial issue of loosing her baby and all. Just a small occurrence in his daughter's life, not really of any importance), but to criticize her for the fact that her team hasn't found Peter.

Claire is only halfway listing to her biological father's voice, for the most part allowing the words to wash over her and her mind to drift. She doesn't need to pay attention to know how Nathan is critizing her. Claire has heard this speech so often she could recite it word for word.

"You need to work harder, Claire. You weren't put in charge of this project to sit around and paint you nails. If you can't find him it will be a simple matter of finding someone to replace you, god knows that they will do a better job."Nathan tells her, his voice angry and condescending.

As the words reach her Claire feels that familiar flash of hurt that Nathan always seemed to cause her, when she suddenly hears Gabriel's voice as clearly as if he were in the room with her.

"_Hang up the phone, Claire. Nathan's not worth the energy it takes you to blink, let alone listen to. You're working harder then anyone to find Peter, and if Nathan can't see that then it's his own fault for having his head shoved up his ass." _

As always the deep golden and bronze vibrations combine with the blood red crimson and deep ebony, pulsating through her soul and even as they wrap themselves tightly around her body.

Her friends' voice is so real, the multihued tones so strong and tight around her that Claire hangs up the phone and turns around, expecting to see Gabriel standing in front of the window, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand and steam clouding the lenses of his glasses.

When all Claire sees is snow piling up on the window sill, she grips her hot coffee mug too hard and wonders if it's possible for someone with a mind incapable of succumbing to mental illness to go crazy after all.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer : I am not the owner.**

**Section One: Chapter Ten**

**PART ONE**

It is 11:30 at night, and by all rights it should be completely dark outside, the only lights that of the moon and stars. Instead the artificial glow from cars, streetlamps, and buildings cast a bright glow over their surroundings, causing disturbances in sleep patterns and forcing the inhabbitnents of New York to sleep with double backed curtains on their windows.

Claire is sitting on the couch in her living room, wearing only her bathrobe and watching TV despite the late hour.Her curtains are drawn across the window, the light leaking through the edges of the fabric despite her best efforts. Claire does this purely from force of habit, for blocking the outside lights is pointless when her TV creates a bright blue glow of it's own. She's not really sure as to the exact plot of this HBO series that she came across after twenty minutes of randomly flipping stations. Something about a telepathic waitress that falls in love with a vampire and has an idiot brother, who is currently being accused of murdering a vampire hooker chick.

Claire wishes she could say that this insomnia is a recent occurrence for her, but the truth she's been awake at increasingly odd hours for months now. It's not unusual for her to be awake at 1:00 in the morning, excising, cleaning, typing up reports, or trying to read a book simply because no matter how much she tosses and turns she just can't get to sleep. Claire know it's most likely her own fault, what with pulling 72 hour shifts every week and not having a proper sleep schedule, coupled with nightmares that cause her to wake up after only a few hours of rest, it's a miracle that she can function at all.

What is even more of a miracle is that somehow Claire can finally feel herself drifting off, possibly due to the monumental boredom of this show that she as subjected herself to. Claire's eyes close and her head falls against the armrest, sleep claiming her as the waitress's brother is bailed out of prison by said waitress's loud mouthed friend.

_She is sitting cross-legged on the ground on the edge of a small clearing. The area surrounding the clearing is so thick with vines, ferns, the moss covered bodies of trees, and other unidentifiable plants that it appears almost as if it is nothing more then one impenetrable mass of green. Trees thousands of feet tall tower above her, their trunks up to 30 feet around and the branches thicker then an eight foot tall person averages in height. _

_The tiny croaks of Poison Arrow Dart Frogs reach her ears, and looking halfway up the tree Claire can spot one on a leaf high above her, the minuscule creature standing out like a ruby amidst the canvas of greenery. _

_Claire can not see any of the larger animals, but that dose not prevent her from hearing them. High above her she hears the sharp cries of a __Plush-crested Jay, and the low cooing of a flock of __Ruddy Ground Doves. The loud, seemingly never ending vocalizations of Howler Monkeys echo through the forest, while from somewhere above them a group of Capuchins burst into shrill shrieks of terror, possibly having spotted a predator. Somewhere far off in the forest Claire faintly hears the death scream of a Taipier, perhaps as it is killed by a Jaguar._

_Those animals are not the type that Claire is listening for however, and she strains her ears for the heavy crunching sound of boots or the swish of a hunting knife being removed from its sheath. _

_Due to the awful humidity Claire is not wearing many articles of clothing, only a bra and a pair of brown shorts. If Nathan could see her he would no doubt say that she looks like a cheep whore, but Nathan has not been around for a long time, and even if he were she wouldn't care what he thought. Not when she can feel sweet drenching her entire body, dripping from her face and steadily trickling down her back, not when it pools in her bra and causes her shorts to stick to her legs. Her hair cut short so she can not see the soaked strands, but Claire knows that they are platinum blonde, not as if she had dyed her hair but as if she had been forced to spend many hours out in the sun. There are no shoes on her feet, which are black with dirt, and she can feel the damp, leaf covered ground beneath her soles. _

_Three feet behind her is one of the towering trees, the trunk close to 25 feet around. The bottom of the trunk has a large, natural hole which leads to an hollowed space, possibly having been an animal den at some point. Now however, it is lined with leaves and grass, having been their shelter for several weeks now. When they move on they will have to throw the bedding into the river, for it is too dangerous to leave evidence of their passing laying around._

_It is then Claire sees the child asleep in the back of the tree shelter. It is a girl of probley three to four years of age, give or take a few months. Her hair is a dark brown, falling in straight rows to just below her ears. She is covered in dirt and scratches, and as Claire watches she sticks her chubby thumb into her mouth and begins to suck on it. _

_As she takes in the sight Claire feels fear the girl, fear that something will happen to her. Claire looks away, shifting her upper body slightly, as if by straightening her spine she will be able to better protect the girl from danger._

_To the right of her Claire sees a pool of blood, the edges of the rapidly spreading liquid barricaded by leaves and piles of dirt._

_Claire suddenly becomes aware of that same blood covering her arms from the tips of her fingers all the way to her elbows, like a gruesome parody of old style surgical gloves. It is splattered across her legs like paint, and her stomach and breasts are smeared with it. _

_Claire notices a bare foot a few inches away from her. A bare foot that has a small freckle directly in the center and a pinkie toe that curls underneath the slightly larger toe next to it. A bare foot that is limp, cold, and unmoving. She closes her eyes at the sight and forces a shaky berth out of her throat, swallowing tightly to relive some of the stress coiling within her. She reopens her eyes and automatically returns her attention to the forest around her, her green orbs looking for the slightest movement that does not belong, and ears searching for any noise made by an animal that does not posses either fur, feathers, or scales. Her hand however, reaches for the foot seemingly of it's own violation, and upon locating the stiff appendage grasps it tightly. _

_An hour passes, then two. The blood covering her dries, sweet counties to stream from her pores, her legs become numb, and her hand is seized by painful cramps, but Claire does not take her attention from the forest surrendering her, nor does she loosen her hold on the foot. The only reason Claire will do so before warmth and life returns to it is if they are discovered._

_She is suddenly glad that the girl is asleep, for this is something that she should never see. The sight of one of them cold and unmoving, seemingly dead while the other is covered in blood like something out of an old slasher film? That is one of the many things that no child should ever witness, and Claire would prefer it to remain that way._

The loud, repetitive ringing of the alarm on her cell phone cuts through her dream, waking her abruptly. Claire's eyes snap open, her brain struggling to make sense of a stain on the carpet as she fumbles blindly for the "off" button on her phone. Once the noise has ceased Claire gets up from the couch, automatically making her way to the shower, her strange dream already lost amongst the thick cobwebs draped across her mind.

**PART TWO**

She will still hear the sound of Gabriel's laughter, low and warm like dark golden silk, when she misplaces her shoes for the millionth time or forgets to add sugar to the peach pie she got talked into baking for the Annual Pot Luck.

Late at night Claire often hears his footsteps on the wood floor of her apartment. When Claire hears the precise, almost rhythmic footfalls, a sound that she could recognize anywhere and one that she knows better then her own heartbeat, she has to fight not to turn around.

**TBC**

**AN: This is a response to the question about Sylar's scars that ivy83 brought up in "Five, Five, and Five", which I am forced to answer here because my attempts to enable my PM have failed.**

**Answer: In my mind the extent of the healing process can be controlled up to a certain point (like with Peter's facial scar), so scars can remain or disappear according to the will of the person in question. Sylar gained those scars due to eclipse's and some of Claire's murder attempts. He wanted his scars to remain, so they did. Make sense?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Eleven**

**PART ONE**

It is her lunch break, which for the past three weeks is signified by whenever she becomes sick of watching her staff member, Nina Zeller show off her breast implants. For all that she is parading her new basketball sized hooters around, you'd have thought they were the sole remaining hope for world peace _and_ the cure for cancer.

"Miss. Zeller?" Claire asks the tall and buxom brunette, who is currently sitting on Julie Carmichael's desk, her breasts practically spilling put of her low cut top as she hits on the blushing redhead.

"Yes, Mam'm?" she responds instantly, her Cajun Louisiana accent thick and throaty.

"I'm taking my lunch break, I assume you can handle things here for an hour?" Claire asks politely, forcing down the urge to tell her to wear a less…. reveling top.

"Of Course. Y'all don't need to worry about a thing, miss." Nina says, flashing her blinding white teeth in a sweet, reassuring smile.

"Thank you." Claire says as she gets up from her desk and exists her office. For all that Nina Zeller shows off her new breasts and hits relentlessly on Julie, Claire has to admit that she is very polite and kind, as well as extremely efficient at her job.

Claire heads out to her car to grab the container of salad that she forgot to bring in that morning, which she considers to be an achievement. Not that she forgot to bring in the salad, but that she actually remembered to eat when she was supposed to. For the past few months she has been skipping meals, not because she's becoming anorexic or anything, but because she rarely feels hungry anymore. She will often go days without eating anything more than an apple or two, not noticing her lack of food consumption at all. Claire doesn't know why this is occurring (she suspects it has a good deal to do with her almost nonexistent sleep schedule), but nor does she care to find out. Her lack of food intake hasn't affected her work (she's still as obsessed and as dedicated as ever), so what problem does it pose? Due to her power her weight has not been adversely affected, so Claire has not had anyone comment on it, assuming that they even noticed in the first place, that is. The one person who would not only have noticed, but would practically have shoved food down her throat is long gone in any case.

As she enters the parking lot she sees Elle sitting on the roof of her car, her legs stretched out in front of her and a casually drinking a blue slushy, as if she is not invading Claire's personal propetey.

If this was anyone else, Claire would automatically call secuatiry, but since it's Elle she doesn't bother. Her training partner would most likely just zap them anyway, leaving Claire the responsibly of getting them to the medical unit and dealing with the two inch thick stack of paperwork that would result.

Claire walks up to her car and stops, looking up at the woman who is currently staring unblinkingly at her with her head cocked to the side. Claire receives the mental image of a courierscat, staring at a mouse as it decides weather to kill outright or bat it in the head a few times before doing so.

"Do I want to know why you're sitting on my car?" Claire inquires, her casual but bored tone suggesting she's wondering why someone is commenting on the length of her hair.

Elle doesn't respond directly, instead reaching behind her back with one arm.

"Here, eat this before you pass out, Bennett." Elle says, holding out a large plastic container containing an Angus Beef Burger, an apple, a salad piled high with tomatoes, green peppers, and cucumbers, as well as a bottle of milk.

"What makes you think I'm going to pass out?" Claire asks, taking the forced offering before Elle can toss it at her head.

Elle gives a muffled snort of laughter and tips her head back, allowing the crushed ice to slide down her throat like one would sallow an oyster.

"Probley because the only thing you've eaten for four days is an orange, at least from what I've seen anyway. And call me crazy, but somehow I don't get the impression that it would be a good thing for you to faint and get a pencil jammed into your "kill spot".

Elle pauses in her explanation to lick a smudge of blue from her pinky finger. Claire, seeing that Elle's tongue is otherwise occupied attempts a response, but she has barely opened her mouth before said tongue resumes it's former task.

"And don't tell me you already have food," Elle continues sharply, as if Claire was personally offending her by suggesting the outlandish possibility that she can provide for herself. "That pile of lettuce you've got in the back seat wouldn't raise the blood sugar of a rabbit, never mind yourself."

Claire doesn't know how to respond to this unusual encounter, which, assuming she is reading it correctly of course, seems to be both a show of concern as well as a repamind.

"How did you get those scars?" Claire asks instead of replaying, unwilling to take the mental effort to would require to sort out Elle's odd behavior.

If this was anyone else she never would have asked, let alone did so in such a blunt manner. In fact, Claire was not even aware that she had been wondering as to the source of Elle's injury. Her subconcheis mind, however, must have been contemplating it for a while now. In any case, Claire knows that even if Elle avoids responding, she will still have appreciated her straight forward manner of questioning.

Elle stares pointedly at the container in Claire's hand. Claire is more then capable of taking a hint, and sets it down on the back of her car before opening it and taking out the burger. She takes a bite and chews quickly, unwilling to allow the unappealing taste to linger on her tongue. She has never cared for burgers.

"Why do you want to know?" Elle says, sounding mildly curious instead of offended.

"It's obvious that something really bad happened, to cause burns of that magnitude."

Elle is quiet for a few minutes, chewing on the straw of her Wild Berry Sluppry and appearing to wait until Claire has finished the burger before granting her an explanation. When she does speak her words come out calmly, as if she is informing Claire that there will be a blizzard that night.

"My dad gave them to me. When the law was passed he got scared that I would tell the government that he was an illegal. He wrapped chains around my wrists and ankles and threw a bucket of hot water on top of me. The heat from the metal and the water, combined with my power, caused the burns."

In another life, back when she was still that naïve cheerleader, Claire would have been shocked, sick, and horrified that anyone could do that to another human being, let alone to their own child.

Now however, Claire has seen parents willing to turn their children over to the government when they began developing signs of an inborn power, and has smelled the harsh, burning order of the gas that is used when a "mass extermation" must take place. She has witnessed people chained up like rabid dogs, and has heard of those who kill their own family members rather then see them fall into the government's hands.

She herself has been forced to threaten and kill forty people, 15 of them children, over her seven years of service to Pinehurst. The eyes and faces of those whom she killed and watched wither in pain and shriek at her for mercy invade her dreams, their empty eye sockets black and their mouths opened wide in silent screams. Those whom pleaded with the young woman with a sweet face and golden hair to _save_ them, to _save _their children, will consume her thoughts were she to allow it. She does not.

So no, she is not horrified nor sick to her stomach. Claire Bennet, the ex cheerleader with a sweet face, golden hair, and olive eyes does not find Elle's story shocking. The killer that she has become, the young woman that will gaze into the terrified face of a sixteen year old boy and slit his throat, eyes as hard as steel and as cold as Demantoid hued ice, experiences no sympathy. The President's daughter, Noah Bennet's "Claire-bear", who will watch with a face carved from marble as child is burned alive by their mother**, **thinks only that she would have accomplished the task of killing Elle with less of a mess.

"Why don't you try to hide them?" Claire inquires coolly.

"Why should I?" Elle asks frowning slightly, sounding puzzled as she slides down from the top of the car.

"It's pretty clear that someone meant to hurt you, to cause you pain and those scars."

Elle shrugs nonchonartently. "We all have scars Pom-Pom. Most of us just have them on the inside."

Elle is silent for a few seconds, picking at her palm with her fingernail as she leans the head back against the car, gazing at the ceiling.

"I liked your dad, you know." Elle says abruptly, her tone suddenly quiet and sad, and Claire gets the impression that Elle has forgotten that she is there.

"When I was little, he would tuck me into bed and give me candy, and sometimes he'd tell me that I was pretty when I wore my hair down." Elle says as she twirls lock of loose hair around her finger.

She bites her lower lip, worrying it gently before continuing.

"When I was having trouble learning to read because of my dyslexia, he bought work books and that Hooked on Phonics thing for me. He would spend hours helping me sound out words and write letters. He never told me that I wasn't trying hard enough when I would miss words or write letters backwards."

Sparks of electricity appear around the edges of her mouth, glowing brightly for a few seconds before traveling along the seam of her lips, fizzling and crackling like blue-white sparklers on the 4th of July. It is almost as if Elle's power is attempting to seal her mouth shut, as if it is reminding her that if she doesn't give these words, these memories, these emotions a voice, they will hold no power over her. Despite the glowing sparkles still roaming along her lips Elle opens her mouth once again, and Claire can see them travel along the inside of her mouth and around her tongue, sliding down her throat like a defeated snake as it slithers back into it's burrow.

"When I screwed up on our first mission, he didn't make me feel stupid. He wasn't mad or disappointed. He just said "we'll get it right next time."

Elle's voice is surprised as she recalls Noah's words, as if she had become so used to expecting disappointment, that even years later she was still amazed that she hadn't been worthy of it.

"One time he said that he was "proud of me"."

Elle gives a short laugh, the sound filled with confusion and self-doubt, almost as if Elle still didn't understand why she would be worthy of pride.

Elle's voice has now decreased to a whisper, and Claire has to strain to hear her.

"I heard him mention you sometimes, never a lot because he was trying to pretend that you didn't mean anything to him, but it was enough. It was enough for me to hear how proud he was of you, even when you played a rock in a school play or got a C on a spelling test. When he talked about you there would be this expression in his eyes, like you were this amazing being that could never make him turn away, that he would do anything to protect."

Elle's gaze is still turned toward the ceiling, but now the lids are closed, shielding her eyes from Claire. Those sparks however, are now resting on her eyelids, glowing softly as if to convoy Elle's sadness.

"I remember that he was willing to kill me to keep you safe, even though I know that he liked me. What does it feel like, to have someone love you that much?"

Elle swallows hard and before Claire can respond Elle quickly takes off across the parking lot, the burns inflicted by Bob Bishop standing out vividly on her palm.

Five minutes later Claire kneels in front of a toilet, watching as chunks of half digested burger force themselves back up and land with a _splat_ in the already disgusting water.

Claire had felt nothing when she heard what had happened to Elle. The cold, emotionless, lifeless killer that was always directly underneath her skin, ready and waiting to be called into action, like a panther coiled to spring and sink it's teeth into it's pray, had not felt a single emotion. The Pinehurst agent residing within her, the one that could watch a child die with cold, hard eyes of emerald and have no qualms when hot obsidian blood coated her hands, that thrived and relished on the frozen numbness that she could feel becoming a part of her… that woman had felt not an ounce of empathy, disgust, or horror.

So why do her hands tremble as her split seconded thought that she could have killed Elle more efficiently then her father echo through her mind?

Why does it feel like she can't get enough air into her lungs as Elle's comments about Noah teaching her to read or being proud of her ring in her ears?

Why does the relaztion that Elle had not only _noticed _that she was not eating, but was _concerned _for her make her head throb and cold sweat form along her brow?

Does the memory of her knife spilling liter after liter of blood force her stomach to clench as if someone is punching her?

How is it possible to hear that her father would never have turned away from her, that he was proud of her, that he _loved _her… and feel an overwhelming sense of panic and dread?

Does the memory of countless pairs of eyes,

_terrified hazel with flecks of bright gold and emerald green, hiding among the sable and olive like a wolf among the trees_

_trusting green, lighter then jade and more innocent then a six year old child can possibly be in this world_

_blank and lifeless amber, the pupil that was once a tiny black beetle stuck in golden tree sap silenced forever_

_cold pools of liquid jet and pink brighter then a rose_, _staring at her with rage and revulsion building steadily deep within the bright, jewel like tones_

_deep brown that look at her with acceptance, concern, and calmness_

_light blue-gray the shade of a moth's wings that watch their daughter with sadness, regret, and love_

does that justify the tile floor that she can see rushing up at her?

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**AN: There is a brief rape scene toward the end. It is in bold if you wish to skip.**

**Section One: Chapter Twelve**

**PART ONE**

Even though the towels in her bathroom have never dried the water from his skin and the sheets of her bed have not once wrapped around his body, Claire can still smell the clean, spicy odor of him lingering in the fabric.

On the Wednesday mornings when she awakens in her bed, she will briefly wonder why the odor of Earl Gray and the bolder aroma of French Roast are not intermingling with the fainter sent of waffles, before she remembers.

**PART TWO**

Her baby would be two and a half years old today.

Had she given birth to a boy or a girl?

Would their eyes have lit up at the noise of a spoon banging against a metal pot, or would her baby have been more inclined to quietly chew on the ear of a toy rabbit?

Had their hair always been dark blonde, or did it start out as a darker shade? Did their skin posses any birthmarks or freckles?

What if her baby had been born with their father's Hunger? What if they had felt the need to _take/have/know/consume _burning in their veins? Could she have taught them to control it, or would they have become a ruthless killer from the moment they had been able to walk?

What had her baby's temperament been? Had they been a difficult baby, crying and throwing fits, or had they been a calm child, full of wide smiles and laughter?

Would they have liked the fish nightlight, or the monkey one better?

By now would her child resemble herself, or their father more? Would they have had their father's prominent nose, long eyebrows, and retuanglaur face? Perhaps they had possessed her darker skin tone, small nose and cupid bow mouth, as well as the rounded heart shape of her own face. Or had they possed features from both of them? Maybe they had inheatred her darker skin and small nose in addition to their father's long eyebrows and rectangleular face.

Most of all, Claire wonders if she would have been a good mother.

**PART THREE**

She doesn't want to be the "invincible girl", capable of walking away from a broken neck or a knife to the heart. She wants to be able to feel pain and wake up to the smell of Earl Gray and French Roast. She wants to raise her child and feel emotion. She wishes she were known as Claire, rather then "Ice Queen Benet"

All she wants is to be normal.

**PART FOUR**

When she's in danger out in the field, often she will feel the ghosts of Gabriel's hands grasping her arms or waist tightly enough to cause violet bruises to form, as if he were preparing to push her out of the way yet again, and possibly give his own life for hers.

She doesn't like to sit on the cement steps leading up to the doorway of her apartment building. When she does she will feel the echo of different stairs digging painfully into her elbows and calves. She will feel the blood dripping from her hair and face, turning her Cheerleading uniform hard and stiff as it already begins to dry. She will feel her heart pounding against her ribs painfully, and she wonders if it's possible for a sixteen year old to actually die from fear. Suddenly the lights go out, all except one and Claire experiences the hair rising on the back of her neck and feels her hands shake as terror rises in her stomach, causing the urge to vomit even as she pushes herself up and runs faster then she's ever run in her life. She runs away from the tall black clad figure, the baseball cap hiding his face and Jackie's blood dripping from his hands. Claire runs away from the figure who will surly be the death of her if she stays.

Claire avoids laying on the couch, for when she does she will feel the long, strong length of Gabriel's legs beneath her head and his hand in her hair, his long graceful fingers threading through it as he absentmindedly plays with the golden strands.

Claire learns to avoid getting stabbed in the stomach, weather during training or accidently while she is at home.

If she does she will see Gabriel bruising her arms or slicing deep wounds into her stomach with a knife. She will see the sickening horror in his eyes, for even though his hand is steady as the blade runs smoothly across her skin, although a smile appears on his face at the sound of her agonized screams, Gabriel does not want to do this.

He does not want to do this, but nor can he stop.

**Gabriel cannot prevent himself from climbing on top of her body and thrusting his erection inside her, shoving past her hymen with brutal force and not bothering to**_** stop/slow down/wait in order to give her enough time to heal or adjust even though she's trying to push him away because it hurts, it hurts so bad and the pain isn't going away and there's blood running down her thighs and god help her it feels so good and she wants more, wants him to go harder/faster/deeper even though the pain is building along with the pleasure and the horror and disgust in his eyes are glazed over with his impending orgasm and there's a blinding wave of pleasure as hers crashes though her even as her blood counties to run and the pain builds and the scream in her head grows louder and there's moans wrenched from her mouth …**_

No. Despite the horror and revulsion Claire can see in his eyes, despite the rage that is equal to Sylar's overflowing her friend's brown gaze, he cannot stop. Gabriel cannot stop because Eric Doyle is controlling them, and Eric Doyle likes the sight of their blood, suffering, bruises, fear, anger, and pain.

Claire stares at the blood on her shirt, the cut long since healed, and wonders how she came to be huddled in the corner of her bathroom, shudders raking her body, screams and sobs lodged in her throat, vomit on the floor underneath her acommpied by the acidic taste of stomach bile on her tongue, and a wet pulsing beat between her legs.

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Plot is mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Thirteen**

**PART ONE**

It is early morning, the sky outside Pinehurst just beginning to shift from dark gray to light pink as the sun rises. Claire is in the parking lot, just about to unlock her car and drive home after pulling yet another three days and nights of "Phantom Peter Sightings", when she feels a strong vibration inside her coat pocket. For a second she's baffled, not knowing what the vibration could possibly be, when she realizes it's her Blackberry. It's not truly surprising that Claire wasn't aware that it was her cell phone, seeing as the only person who ever called her had been Sylar, and neither Tracy nor Nathan had ever once bothered to initiate a call to her phone.

_So in other words, they'll call your phone when pigs fly?_

Suppressing a wince as the memory floats through her mind Claire pulls out her phone, assuming that her eyes are playing tricks on her as she sees Tracy's name on the screen.

"Hello?" she asks, half expecting her phone to have malfunctioned.

"I'm afraid we have to cancel our planes for your birthday tonight, Claire." Tracy says without any sort of greeting.

"We never made any plans. This is the first time you've talked to me in eight months, how exactly could we have discussed my birthday?" Claire asks her stepmother, wondering if she will hear the typical response, or if Tracy will think up a different one in honor of the occasion.

"Don't be ridiculous Claire, of course we've talked." Tracy replies, not a trace of guilt in her voice as she utters words that Claire could flawlessly repeat in her sleep. "We wouldn't have canceled, but your father's giving a speech tonight, and as of right now that's more important."

Before Claire can respond Tracy cuts off the connection.

_For the First Lady and a governor's former advisor and whore you'd think she'd be able to come up with a new excuse._

Claire hangs up her phone and stares at its smooth, black surface. Her eyes are blank and unfocused, and she isn't aware of Elle Bishop watching her three cars over, biting her lip as understanding and sympathy fill her eyes.

The next night Claire is working late, looking over a last minute report that one of her people had dropped off only an hour ago. As she attempts to read the barely legible handwriting a plate of frosted cupcakes is suddenly placed directly on the report.

Claire looks up from the sudden aperation to see Elle standing in the doorway of her cubicle, the red burns on her neck and face clearly visible thanks to her low cut white top and the white blond hair that's tucked behind her ears.

"Happy birthday." Elle says, direct as always.

"Huh?" Claire says intelligently.

"It was your birthday yesterday, right?" Elle responds in a tone that implies Claire is missing a few brain cells. Her eyes however, have become anxious, as if it has just occurred to her that she has done something wrong and is waiting for a repamind.

Claire nods silently, unsure of how to take this gesture.

"Well, I noticed that it wasn't very…. happy, so I baked you cake because I've heard that birthday's are meant to be a happy day with cake and stuff." As Elle is speaking a small crackling ball of elecatairy forms in her palm, and as Claire watches it grows to the size of baseball.

Claire finally manages a response, tearing her thoughts away from images of the building going up in flames.

"Thank you, but you didn't really have to-"

"Look, just eat some of them alright!" Elle interrupts, her tone stressed and sounding as if she is ten seconds away from either taking the cupcakes back or zapping Claire.

"It took me four hours to make the stupid things." She adds, now gently tossing the glowing blue-white light back and forth between her hands, the way someone else would absentmindedly toss a tennis ball in an effort to calm themselves.

"Why did it take you so long?"

Elle doesn't respond for a minute, instead focusing her attention on the glowing ball floating between her hands.

"I screwed up the first three batches because I've never baked before, and the previous two batches before this one I ended up getting frustrated and zapping them." Elle finally says, her voice a good deal calmer. If that ball tossing was intended as a de-stresser, then it was clearly effective.

"Do you want to have some with me?" Claire offers. It's the polite thing to do after all, especially when Elle went through all that trouble.

She is met with a surprised, wide eyed stare, as if Elle has never had anyone offer to eat with her before.

"Ok. Yhea. Sure." Comes the stilted response.

Elle walks into the cubicle, the light ball shrinking slightly as she does so, and leans against the file cabinet next to Claire's desk. For a few minutes there's silence as they both eat one of the cupcakes.

"How old are you?" Elle inquires after about five minutes.

"Twenty six." Claire says after swallowing the bite in her mouth.

"Really? You look about 19." Elle informs her as she licks frosting off her finger.

Claire is very much aware of this. Her physical appearance has been both an advantage and a disadvantage over the years.

"I know. For some reason my power made me stop ageing when I actually _was_ 19."

Silence falls between them again, but it's not the same as the ones that have occurred before. In the past those moments of quiet were 99% awkward and 1% comftable. This one is about 95% awkward and 5% comftable.

Claire considers this to be a remarkable improvement.

Claire and Elle have eaten two more cupcakes before Elle looks at the silver watch on her wrist. She blinks in surprise, not having been aware of the late hour.

"I should probley head home, it's getting pretty late." She says, gathering up her trash one handedly.

"Thank you again. The cupcakes are really good." Claire tells her, privately wondering why Elle really went through all the trouble of baking them in the first place.

A wide smile spreads across Elle's face. It's not the insane "I'd love to see you light up like a Christmas tree" smile that she normally gives, but a real, genuinely happy smile.

Elle leaves Claire's cubicle, heading toward the front of the building, and in that moment Claire realizes three things.

One: this is the first time she's ever seen such a truly happy expression on Elle's face. Two: the ball of light had completely vanished by the time they started conversing. Three: Elle's smile reminds her of another one, a smile that she first witnessed sitting on a park bench as people and pigeons flew passed.

**PART TWO**

Claire will still see Gabriel's face before her, his brow furrowed and eyes flashing with anger as he used his telekinesis to hold her immobile to the floor, pinned to a chair, or held several feet high against a wall like a butterfly on a bulletin board. It was similar to sleep paralysis; when you want to move but you can't even lift your finger because some strong, invisible force is preventing it. A force that also happens to be able to fling you around like a rag doll, make you walk back across a room, or prevent you from falling off a staircase. When this happened she was never afraid, as one might expect her to be, not even when she was pinned against the wall like a bug about to be experimented upon. Gabriel would hold her there, but never to harm her, never to cut open her skull or to frighten her into doing what he wanted. Her friend would employ his power to prevent her from storming away from him in a fit of anger, and it required only one word from her for the power holding her in place to be gone.

On the few occasions when she has to take her reports home with her, she will automatically reach for the side table in order to remove the glasses she is able to see in her perhapcial vision, only to realize that it's nothing more then a streak of black paint.

There are times when Claire will enter her cubicle at Pinehurst, and just for a moment she will see Gabriel sitting on his side of the desk, his blue-black hair in disarray and brown eyes glazed as he stares blankly at the ever increasing mountain of paperwork in front of him. Then she will blink, and her desk is empty once again, the paperwork higher then ever before.

**PART THREE**

Tracy has sent gift basket to her apartment. There's nothing much inside, just a couple boxes of hair dye, blue contact lenses, and a gift card for an expensive clothing store. To anyone else they would be thoughtful, if meaningless items, but Claire understands the not so subtle message her stepmother is sending her. It is one she has heard spoken over the phone and face to face, read by email, and seen in the condescending and disappointed expression in Nathan's eyes. Claire has seen, read, and heard it so much over the years that now the words fail to phase her.

_You should dye your hair darker, Claire. Even if I can't aknowdgle you as my daughter, you can at least resemble the part._

_You would look more like my daughter if you wore blue or brown contacts, Claire. Neither Meredith nor I have green eyes. I'm beginning think that she lied about your parentage. _

_Those clothes you own are so unbecoming Claire. I swear that you insist on looking like a prostitute simply to embarrass me. I don't know why we put 3,000 dollars into your account each month if you're not going to spruce up a little. _

Claire dose not aknowdgle the profound abuse the gift represents. Instead she shoves the basket underneath the bathroom sink and heads to the grocery store, her blond hair falling down her back, green eyes dull, and perfectly presentable in a lavender turtle-neck and white skirt.

**PART FOUR**

When the taste Gabriel's blood materializes on her tongue, the thick, metalatlic, intoxicating flavor one that she has become well accustomed to thanks to so many training sessions and missions gone awry,Claire will not attempt to rinse her mouth out as one might expect her to. Instead she will suck on the appendage in her mouth, desperately trying to capture as much of that crimson liquid as possible. After Claire has opened her eyes and sees that her lips are not stained scarlet, nor is her friend standing before her the pulse that is throbbing desperately between her legs will diminish, and that emotion that she can feel pounding against the wall of ice around her soul will grow stronger.

**PART FIVE**

Claire finds a necklace on the floor of her closet. She isn't sure how it got there, a shining silver strand embedded in the two inch thick tan carpet. Perhaps it had been tangled up in the clothes that she had brought with her when she sold her first apartment. As Claire rescues the jewelry from its fluffy coffin, the light reflects off the surface, the bright gleam causing the memory to come rushing to the forefront of her mind.

_Claire opens the blue velvet box, and upon seeing the contents gasps quietly in surprise. Held securely on the white platform is a silver necklace, the long chain so thin and delicate as to be nearly be invisible. On the end of the chain is a small butterfly, about a ½ inch in diameter. It is solid silver, the only color that of the subtle luminous of rare pink pearl around the edges of the wings._

_Claire smiles widely and turns to Gabriel, who upon seeing her delighted reaction to his birthday gift shyly drops his gaze, a pleased smile crossing his face. _

"_I take it you like it, then?" he asks, now looking at her._

"_I love it, Gabriel. It's so beautiful." She says, her voice filled with awe and her eyes shining brightly as she beholds the man before her. _

"_Will you put it on me?" she requests softly. _

_Without waiting for an answer Claire turns around and holds up her hair so Gabriel can clasp it around her neck. Claire is aware of her friend moving closer until she can feel the heat of his body, just centimeters away from her own. Gabriel reaches around her and takes the chain from her fingers, allowing his thumb to brush against the inside of her wrist. He raises the chain further, and as he does so the backs of his hands slide slowly along the silken blue fabric of her dress before transferring to the skin of her neck, seeming to linger a few seconds longer on the brown "beauty marks" scattered across her throat and collarbone. As her friend's hands glide over her Claire feels her breathe quicken, and her eyelids involuntary close as she experiences the urge to close that small space between them, to feel the firmness of his chest against her hair and the muscles of his stomach molded to her back. _

_Gabriel has now raised the chain high enough to fasten it, and Claire can feel the sides of his hands resting on the back of her neck as he clasps the necklace. She expects him to step away now that the task is completed, but instead Gabriel's hands glide down and around her shoulder blades, the tips of his fingers brushing the sides of her breasts as they continue down her body, making their way along her waist until they're resting lightly on her hips. Her heart- rate doubling, Claire opens her eyes and tilts her head back. Her vision is met with the sight of Gabriel staring at her, his lips slightly parted and his brown gaze dark and blazing.____Gabriel lowers his head, and Claire feels her heart rate triple as the distance between them shrinks._

_The shrill ring of the phone shatters the moment. Claire reluctantly shifts her attention to the obnoxious device, knowing that it's most likely her dad calling to tell her he'll be over soon so they can go to the restaurant._

Tearing her mind away from the memory Claire stares at the beautiful butterfly resting in her palm. She is frozen in place, unsure of what she should do with it. She could sell it, but Claire doesn't truly need the money. She may be able to give it away, but then again the buyer might not take good care of it. Claire can't wear it to work because people would inquire as to where she got it, and she does not wish to tell them.

So when she carefully tapes the chain to the bottom of an empty shoebox and places it in the corner of her closet? It is so it will remain undamaged in case she ever needs to pawn it for some quick cash. There is no sentimental meaning behind the way that she carefully undoes a tiny kink in the chain, no memory or emotion that compels her to stroke her fingertip across the pink wing. She is so gentle with a four year old necklace that was laying unnoticed on the floor, simply because she does not wish to break an obviously expensive trinket.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Just the plot is mine**

**There is graphic images of violence in this. It will be in bold if you don't want to read.**

**Section One: Chapter Fourteen**

**PART ONE**

Her computer is broken again, making this the sixth time in five months.

Claire knows that she should attempt to repair it, either by calling the Help line or taking it to the Tech. Support Center at Pinehurst. She knows that her life will be more difficult then it already is without it, that her staff is very likely to have a stroke when she doesn't respond (because _god forbid_ if she doesn't answer their question as to whether they should track Peter's movements in Madagascar, or stick to the US), and that she may very well miss an "important" email from Nathan.

To be completely honest, Claire can't bring herself to give a crap. Not when just getting out of bed feels as daunting as climbing Mount Everest, and answering a single email is equlviant to running a marathon. Even something as simple as getting up to go to the bathroom makes her want to sleep for 20 years.

So Claire remains in her bed, her head burrowed under the covers to prevent the bright sunshine from stabbing through her eyelids. She ignores her broken computer, the fact that she is missing work, and puts her trust in Pinehurst's medical facility to treat any spontaneous brain blockages amongst her staff.

**PART TWO**

Claire could not tell you how long she has been here, wherever "here" is exactly (It could be one of the camps or she may be inside of her the hospital down the block). It could be hours, days, or even months.

She does not know exactlyhow she came be kneeling on a cold steel slab, heavy iron shackles upon her wrists and ankles, the short chains attached to them bolted secularly to the floor. Claire recalls that she had been riding in Elle's car with her when Elle had lost control of the car. She knows that there had been a loud crash, pain, and a ton of blood. Claire remembers that Elle had been fighting to stay alive even though there was an object sticking out of her chest because Elle had been trying to tell her something…. but after that there is nothing. Claire doesn't know if someone had pulled her from the wreak, if she had managed to get out herself, or if help had been called in. It is simply a giant hole in her memory.

Claire knows that she had known all of this at one point, but now something is preventing her from recalling the events that led to this. Weather it is due to trauma or the influence of the some mind altering ability, well, Claire does not know that either.

If the holes in her memory _are_ caused by an ability, then it stands to reason that it is the same one that is preventing four of her five senses from functioning. For Claire cannot see, she cannot hear or smell, nor can she taste.

She can, however feel.

What she feels is pain and the petrifying touch of human hands, jagged iron and smooth steel, and unheard words issuing from her throat.

**The pain races along her nerves in blinding, never ending waves. **

**The pain comes from a whip that falls relentlessly onto her back and stomach, legs and breasts, causing fire to course through her body and her blood to pool beneath her. When Claire feels that first flash of fire across her body she will struggle against her resatients, but no matter how hard she frantically pulls and yanks and twists she is held relentlessly in place. She is unable to escape the lash that she can feel slicing deeply through skin and layer after layer of muscles and tendons, ripping through her nerves and nicking the knotted bones of her spine.**

**The pain comes in the form of hands upon her, the rough calloused fingers that she can't escape no matter how hard she tries twisting her elbows and legs, bending her fingers and wrists, and snapping her ankles. **

**When Claire somehow manages to fall asleep it will wake her in the form of brutal beatings, of fists slamming into her mouth or heavy objects colliding with her stomach and ribcage, knocking out her teeth and causing massive internal bleeding, bones that stick out of her sides, and ruptured organs. **

**At any given moment Claire will experience the restraints around her ankles tightening before fire consumes her feet, the searing heart from the flames burning her skin to a blackened crisp. Other times both sets of shackles will tighten until Claire can feel the area becoming numb, and then strong volts of elecatiry are coursing through her body, causing her muscles to violently seize and her skin to blister and burn.**

**Occanshially she will feel the smooth metal of a knife or the teeth of a saw against her limbs. Some are sharp, others are dull, and sometimes Claire can feel a thick layer of rust covering the blade. After the first three times Claire prays for a sharp instrument because then, when her legs or arms, her fingers or toes, her hands or feet are removed, it will hurt less.**

**Sometimes Claire will feel herself laid out flat upon the floor, and it is then that she struggles the hardest against her restraints and the hands holding her in place, for she knows that soon her legs will be spread and she will feel the cold blade of a knife against her genitals only an instant before the razor sharp instrument begins to slice. **

**Of course Claire heals, her body renewing itself almost as quickly as it is destroyed. Her bones will snap back into place and her severed limbs, missing teeth, and mutilated genitals regrow, and the livid bruises disappear. The torn muscles, tendons, and skin knit themselves back together, her organs are repaired, and she will cough up blood, bodily poisons, and fragments of flesh and bone. **

**In no time at all Claire's body will be as smooth, undamaged, and whole as it always has been, and the explosions of agony will soon disappear along with the renewence of her nerves.**

**All that does is provide her tormentors with new bones to break, new skin to slice, and new levels of suffering that they can bestow upon her.**

**Not every ounce of the touch Claire experiences causes her pain; occanshially the sensation that travels across her skin is gentle as opposed to harsh, or calming instead of terrifying. She will feel hands, cool and uncalloused, sliding down her arms, across her neck, or over her back. Other times there will be the sensation of warm water poured over her body as a cloth washes the blood from her skin**

**It is during those times, when these brief touches do not bring her pain, that Claire is the most afraid. **

**For she can never predict when the gentle hand running down her arm will suddenly gouge deep stinging scratches down the length of her forearm, or when the large hand holding her hair back will disappear only to strike her face with a fire inducing force that will send her careening off her knees. **

**When Claire feels fingers traveling along her neck fear will grip her, causing her muscles to stiffen and her breath to come in short hitches and stifled gasps, for she has come to expect that at any moment those fingers will painfully encircle her throat. **

**Someone that touches her has hands are always firm as opposed to painful. Those hands never slap her face, crush her windpipe, or aid in breaking her bones. When Claire feels that touch she never anticipates that it will slam into her stomach, cause the fire that burns her feet, or wield the blade that severs her jugular. It is this touch that she has learned to fear the most. Those firm hands will only be upon her when she is laid flat and her legs are spread. They single the approach of the cool blade of a knife and lets Claire know that helplessness, excruciating pain, terror, and humiliation are only moments away.**

**Then there are a few occasions when the hands or fingers touching her truly do not cause pain. They are brisk and efficient as they clean the blood from her skin and hair, they are gentle when they run along her body as they feel for any bones that need to be snapped back into place, and sometimes they appear to be concerned as they hesitantly touch the wounds marring her body. **

**Claire would rather that those hands cause her pain, for when they do not she feels sick with fear as she waits for a blow that may, or may not come.**

**The iron is the shackles around her wrists and ankles. They are heavy with sharp edges that slice shallow cuts into her skin and cause raw welts to form. They have never once been removed, and Claire can only assume that the blood she can feel leaking out from underneath them is rank with the odor of infection and decay from the only wounds that her tormentors have not allowed to heal.**

**The steel is the blade of a knife or the cold, smooth surface of a table beneath her. Both have quickly come to be identified with agony, fear, powerlessness, and hands that never allow her to escape.**

Claire is also able to feel herself screaming.

She can't hear the words that she is uttering, nor can she distuingsh them from the manner in which they leave her throat. She doesn't know whether she is pleading for them to stop, spewing useless threats against the ones who are doing this to her, crying out for help, or just crying out in agony.

She can't prevent herself from screaming, and as time goes on she ceases trying.

**PART THREE**

Shouting.

The taste of old blood, bile, and unbrushed teeth.

Muffled angry words and loud crashes.

White and green puss oozing from underneath thick iron.

Her own hand, the nails torn and her fingers covered in bright crimson blood.

The harsh odor of chemicals, the putrid stench of an infected wound and burnt, charred flesh.

Bright light blinding her, brightly colored lights appearing behind her eyelids.

A horrified, quickly stifled exclamation (them?).

A small and pitiful whimper (her?).

The click of hurried footsteps, the scratchy voice issuing from a radio.

The shackles sending bolts of pain through her arms as she tries to get away, the chains holding fast as her foot slips in a pool of blood.

A hand reaching for her, the fingers slim and encased in a leather glove.

A sudden scream, the terrified and wordless cry one of a wounded animal.

Wide gray eyes, frantic voices surrounding her, and a terrible burning in her throat.

A sharp prick in her arm, something cold entering her veins.

Darkness.

**PART FOUR**

Claire is standing in her father's office, staring at the man who should be pacing the floor, clenching his hands in anger, and who should be on the phone furiously attempting to find whomever is responsible for what she has suffered. Nathan should be assigning her a secret service, relocating her to a safe house, or perhaps installing an alarm system and hidden weapons around her apartment.

Instead Nathan is sitting behind his desk calmly working on paperwork, as if his only daughter had not been a prisoner at a camp and had not been tourted and mutilated beyond what any normal person could have survived. **As if she had not had her limbs sawn off or felt thousands upon thousands volts of elecatiray careening through her body.**

Her father has not assigned his daughter one body guard, let alone an entire secret service. There have been no arrangements for relocation, nor any protection installed within her residence. In fact she has been ordered that under no cirmstances is she to relocate, regardless of the very likely possibitly that her kidnappers know where she lives.

"So you're not going to take one step to ensure my safety?" Claire asks in disbelief.

"I don't see why protection would be necessary, Claire. Nothing has occurred that would warrant it." Nathan says as he finally looks up from the paper covering his desk, his expression cool and collected.

When Claire hears the evidence of Nathan's utter disregard for her she wonders why she feels so shocked, angry, and hurt by his words. Doesn't she know by now to expect this from Nathan? Hasn't she learned that anything that would upset his career is either eliminated or locked away?

Claire has understood for years that she, Nathan's only daughter, matters as little to her father as a dead dog in the street, and that he would have preferred her to have died in that fire when she was a baby. Yet this time, in light of what has happened, Claire had thought that Nathan would at least feel obglaited to grant her the minimalist amount of concern or protection that he is capable of. It wouldn't have been much, most likely no more then a slightly worried frown, a flea bitten motel in the middle of nowhere, or simply an extra knife.

It appears that none of those are forth coming, least of all a sense of responsibility on Nathan's part to uphold even the most basic of social protocol.

"What do you mean _nothing happened_?" Claire says as she takes a step closer to the desk, slightly surprised not only to actually feel anger building inside her, but to hear it in her voice for the first time in years.

"It's all right there on the computer, they found photos and hand written documtation! The woman who found me _told_ you what she saw, for God's sake!" Claire continues as she places her hands on the desk, right over her father's oh so important paperwork.

Nathan shoots her an annoyed look and leans back in his chair, as if she was a child throwing a tantrum because her favorite toy had been taken away.

"Those images and reports are obviously faberactied." He remarks calmly.

Claire stares at her father, disbelief rising along with her anger.

How could he say that? He knew what went on in those camps; he had issued the treatment of those people himself. Did Nathan really think so little of her that he refused to believe the evidence right in front of him?

"They tortured me!" Claire says, her voice no more then a whisper, yet a whisper that was shaking with rage.

"**They ruptured my organs, sawed off my limbs, and strangled me. I was whipped so hard my spine was chipped, and they didn't stop until I was laying in a ankle deep pool of my own blood. They kept me chained to the floor, burned my feet black, and held me down and mutilated my vaginia with a knife!" **

This is the first time that Claire had verbalized what had been done to her, and as she does so she keeps her eyes fixed on Nathan as she watches for any sign of discomfort or recenigtion. As Claire speaks she does not spare one detail, nor does she try to down play what had been done to her.

She wants Nathan to _see _what she had suffered, she wants him to _care_. Is that really so much to ask? Is it completely unreasonable to want her father to care that she had suffered injuries and pain beyond what the normal human body, let alone the mind, could have survived?

Claire continues to watch Nathan's face as she tells what had been done to her, and when she gets to the end of her gruesome descriptions there has not been a single crack in Nathan's impassive mask. Not once was there any sort of reaction to hearing what his daughter had gone through, what sadistic and inhuman torture she had faced because of a law that he had passed.

Nathan looks at her for a few seconds, his hazel eyes as cold and unsympathetic as ever. When he speaks his voice exactly matches the expression in his eyes: eerily calm and unbelievingly callous.

"I seriously doubt that any of that is true, Claire. You should learn to take care of yourself, to make sure something like that never happens to you."

Claire doesn't say a single word in response to the comment that she knows she should have expected, instead she turns around and makes her way outside to the car that is waiting to take her to the airport. If the driver wonders why Claire's eyes are red as they drive to the airport he doesn't ask, for that is not in his job description.

For her part Claire sits silently in the back seat, her blonde hair hiding her face from view as she stares unseeingly out the window.

Apparently wanting her father to care _had _been too much to ask.

**PART FIVE**

She is in one of the living quarters at Pinehurst. The room is small, with a single bed, a narrow dresser, a small side table, and a tiny bathroom the only furnishings.

Claire sits in the middle of her hard, narrow bed, her legs crossed underneath her. She looks different then she had that morning, when she confronted Nathan. Her long hair is now dark brown instead of golden blonde, and her eyes have transformed from a vivid green into a light blue.

In the garbage can in the bathroom lies the hair dye and contact lenses Tracy had sent her a few months ago, both boxes now empty.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**Section One: Chapter Fifteen**

**PART ONE**

Claire's time in the camps appears to have completely shattered that frozen numbness encasing her emotions. She isn't sure why, perhaps it is because she was trapped in a situation where she couldn't _not_ feel emotion, or maybe this was an inevitable occurrence all along.

Whatever the reason is Claire is not prepared for the wave of suppressed feelings that seem to be hitting her all at once.

One minute she is sitting on the floor, the grief and anger over her child's disappearance and death expressing themselves in a half hour crying jag, and then as if a switch has been flipped on she will become furious, screaming into a pillow and throwing non breakable objects across the room.

The feelings of abandonment and hurt that Gabriel had caused when he left show up in the form of depression, more tears and hours spent cursing his name, endlessly asking herself _why_, and pummeling the life out of a punching bag.

There is only one emotion associated with the camps: terror. It is a mind numbing, white hot terror that is expressed in flashbacks of twisted shoulders or deep scratches down her arm as Claire sees a hand coming toward her or feels a stray touch upon her. This terror causes vivid nightmares in which she relives the burn of blackened feet, the teeth of a saw, and those hands that were just as likely to wash her body as they were to hold her down or slap her face. Almost every night Claire finds herself back in that hellish place, experiencing once again those merciless touches and the fear and pain that they bring, and it is to her own screams that Claire will wake, her face wet with tears. Soon Claire learns to avoid touch. It doesn't matter if it is a friendly handshake or a fist hitting her body during a training session. She shuns and shrugs off every well intended hand heading her way as if the hand in question was carrying the plague.Claire rejects it because touch alone will cause those flashbacks and nightmares, for within that room there was no sight, no smell, no taste, and no sound. There was only physical sensation and pain. She doesn't _want_ to be touched, the very thought of it sends waves of revulsion through her mind and shivers of terror coursing up her spine.

As for all of the anger, fear, violation, shame, and the sensation of being _unclean_ caused by the rape… that takes a little longer to come out. What Claire had not realized was that numbness she had been experiencing was a latent result of the rape. That numbness was a form of shock, depression, and denial, the magnitude of which had been suppressed and yet building for months, throughout her entire pregnancy in fact. True, the shock of Gabriel leaving and Peter stealing her child had contributed to the latent appearance, as well as increased the strength of her reaction, but it had only been a coincidence that it had come over her on the day that she found out her child was dead.

That is not to say that the shock had _never_ lifted, otherwise Claire would not have blamed herself, nor would she have been desperate to get the "greasy film" off her skin, and neither would she have had flashbacks or nightmares.

Now that the shock and denial has lifted, all the emotions that Claire had been suppressing, both during and after the rape are hitting her like a freight train**.**

She remembers the fear, desperation, and a sense of powerlessness as she felt Gabriel on top of her, and recalled her rage and contempt for Eric Doyle with a burning intensity that has her fingers itching for her gun. Claire hears her own mental voice crying out to Gabriel, trying franticly to make him stop, and her increasing terror has Gabriel kept going further and further… for he had been _unable_ to stop.

At times Claire will find herself blaming both Gabriel and Doyle, experiencing rage and a desire to hurt them, despite knowing that Gabriel had been just as much of a victim as she had been, and that he had not wanted it any more then she herself had. The problem with emotions, especially strong ones, is that they are not logical things. They are not capable of distinguishing between intentional and unintentional actions, weather or not the perpetrator is at fault, nor is it possible for the mind to look past the emotions connected to the event and/or the person that is not responsible and focus on the one whom is.

So even though Claire knows that Doyle is completely to blame, that he was the cause of her violation and pain, she also blames Gabriel. Claire is aware that Gabriel hadn't wanted it, that he had felt just as much terror, helplessness, pain, self blame, shame, and revulsion as she had… but it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because Gabriel had _hurt_ her, he'd _pinned_ her beneath him and _tore_ her and made had made her _bleed_ over and over again. He had smiled at her fear and pain and had continued to do so even though she had been trying to shout, _No!_

Claire knows that she has nightmares about the rape, even though she never remembers them. She knows this for she will often wake up with the covers tangled around her, fear enveloping her as her heart pounds madly against her ribs. Her throat will be horse, as if she had been screaming, and there will be a quickly diminishing pain in her arms, legs, and abdomen. Judging by the smeared blood stains on her sheets as well as her body, not to mention the red half moons underneath her nails, perhaps it is not a bad thing that she does not remember.

Elle's death, well that inspires grief.

Claire hadn't realized that she had come to care about Elle, enough to consider her a friend of a sorts. It hadn't been an close friendship by any means, not one that would mean shopping trips or knowing each-other's secrets, but it had been a friendship all the same. Elle had tried to make Claire feel better after she had returned to Pinehurst by offering to train with her, had made her cupcakes for her birthday and was concerned when Claire wasn't eating. In turn Claire had felt comftable talking to Elle and sharing the cupcakes, she had made it clear that she liked training with her and had even started conversations between them. More then once Claire had found herself checking Elle's surroundings for any metal or water after Elle had told her how she had gotten her burns, and once Claire had demoted a member of her staff because she had overhead them talking badly about Elle.

The tears and grief do not last very long, perhaps two months or so, but Claire's grief is genuine nevertheless.

**PART TWO**

Claire's feelings regarding Gabriel's leaving have changed. It is not that she has forgiven him or that her anger and the wound inside her have ceased. She still wants to know why he left and would hit him a few times before slamming the door in his face if he showed up in her doorway. She still sees and hears him in her living quarters, and doesn't like the smell of Earl Gray tea because it reminds her of him.

Something however, perhaps the passage of time, has lessened the intensity of her emotions.

Not completely of course, for Claire knows that she would eventually scream at him should she ever see him again, and it would take quite a while before she would be able to trust him again.

Just like all those times that she was able to look past her dad's leaving Claire is discovering that she is slowly becoming able to look past Gabriel's. Claire knows that despite everything Gabriel has done to her she would still defend Gabriel from anyone that insulted him or tried to hurt him, and that she would leap into the path of a bullet for him without a second thought. Claire also knows that she would remain loyal to him, do whatever it took to protect him, and would follow him anywhere.

Claire has also forgiven Gabriel for raping her, for she knows that it was Eric Doyle's fault, not his. That is not to say that she does not still have nightmares or that she never feels like she has a greasy film over her skin, and nor has she ceased wishing that either of them had been strong enough to make it stop. Claire has known Gabriel long enough however, to know Gabriel would never have harmed her like that if he had been in control of his actions. She also knows that both of them had been the victims that night, both of them had felt fear and suffered pain and a curl violation, not just her.

**PART THREE**

The night air is warm and muggy, the opposite of the ice cold rain falling on her.

Claire stands under a dim street lamp, her eyes closed and her hands clasped behind her back. Her hair is plastered to her head, shoulders, and the back of her jacket, no doubt making her look like a drowned rat. Her boots are filled with water, her leather pants have become heavy and have moudled themselves to her legs, and her leather jacket has long since failed to protect her skin from the cold downpour.

If anyone has noticed that she has been standing under the same street lamp for an hour, becoming more drenched as the rain counties to fall, they have not cared enough to inquire if there is a problem.

In truth Claire isn't sure if there is a problem. She is conshesies of the rain, but in a detached way, the way you would be of a stray dog in the street. She is aware that an hour has passed, but because she dose not have to be into work for another eight hours she isn't troubled by it. She doesn't know why she is standing in the rain in the first place, or even if she wishes to remain there. Claire only knows that she doesn't want to go back to her living quarters, where the walls are barren, there is a new box of hair dye on the bathroom sink, and a glittering butterfly necklace lays in a shoe box underneath the bed.

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Nothing in this chapter except the twist on the events are mine.**

**Section One: Chapter Sixteen**

**PART ONE**

After all these years Claire is face to face with her Uncle in an empty warehouse. She is facing the most wanted terrorist in America, one who would not hesaite to kill thousands of people if it furthered his cause, whose actions have sent hundreds more to the camps. That alone should make her want to kill him.

But that is not the only thing that he has done. No, what he has done to her is so much more personal.

So Claire faces the Uncle that betrayed her, perhaps in one of the worst ways that one can betray another. She listens to him try and reason with her, her rage growing with each word that comes out of his mouth, for none of them is the words that she wants to hear.

Claire wants to hear an explation, one that is better then the claim that Peter had been trying to protect her child from the potentional harm of being the President's grandchild. She wants to hear an "I'm sorry." for causing her child's death because Peter had, as always, put too much faith in his own flawed reasoning.

Of course, that is not what she hears, for Peter had never been one to own up to his own mistakes, had never been willing to truly see the magnitude of the suffering that his actions had caused to others. In that he was exactly like Angela and Nathan. Neither his mother nor his brother had ever wanted to face all of the harm brought on by their actions, and rarely had they ever admitted to making a mistake in the first place. Instead they claimed that their actions were for the benfit of the human race or that they were trying to "protect" or "save" those whom they cared about, and never once did they conserider the adverse affects that their actions would bring.

When Peter goes off on his rant about fixing the world Claire wants to kill him all the more.

What does he know of the camps? What does he know of the experiments? Things that he has heard or perhaps briefly witnessed as he was implanting a bomb inside a deserted office? What does he know of hands that tighten unmercifcially around throats or whips that nick your spine? What does Peter know of brutal hands and waves of pain and fear that never end because no matter how much you struggle and plead and scream it never stops?

Peter appears confused by her response, by her "Ice Queen" demeanor, as if he can't imange how she came to be this way. Why she wants to kill him so badly.

As he asks that very question, as he pleads one last time for her to listen to his reasoning Claire recites the reason Peter had gave her, what his justification had been for ripping her child away from her.

"I'm different remember? Special!" she spits out, her anger spilling into her voice for the first time in a year, ever since she had screamed at Nathan as she tried to make him see what had been done to her. As she tried to make him care.

In that moment, as Claire repeated what Peter had said to her that night, the night that she tried desperately to bargain with him and wasn't even aware of the glass embedded in the soles of her feet, is she trying to make Peter see as well?

As Claire allows him to witness only a small glimpse into the depth of her rage and hatred, is she perhaps attempting, one last time, to make him care?

But there is no remorse, no understanding within Peter's eyes. There is only confusion and the same single minded determination that seemed to be a genetic trait of the Petrelli's.

So Claire ignores his plea and turns away from his desperation, just as he had turned away from hers.

She raises her gun to kill him, to finally end this, and just before she pulls the trigger she gives Peter one last explanation, one last reason why she desires his death.

"I've always loved you." Claire says coldly as the memory of Peter's refusal to revel if she had given birth to a son or a daughter echo in her ears.

She fires her gun, knowing that in an instant the bullet will leave a single, bloody hole in her Uncle's forehead.

Peter will be dead, and it will finally be over.

Then Peter has vanished and her hand is surrounding empty air where a second before her gun had been. The bullet collides with the steel door of the warehouse, leaving another dent in the already mangled surface.

Claire looks around the empty space, knowing that Peter had managed to stop time and had traveled into the past. She also knows that Peter will have to return to his own time, if for no reason other then some obligation that he feels he must fulfill.

It wasn't over yet, but soon it would be.

**PART TWO**

Claire stares down at her Uncle's body upon the morgue table located deep within the second level of Pinehurst.

His skin is hard and cold, there is a bloody hole through his brain, and he is not healing. For all intents and purposes Peter Petrelli, the terrorist and the man who was behind the attempted murder of the President is dead. The man whom had stolen her child and who Claire has spent four years loathing with every fiber of her being lies on a steel surface, murdered by her own hand.

It is well within Claire's right to feel good as she stands there in that cold and sterile room, her hands in her pockets and her brown ponytail spilling over her shoulder. Claire, however, does not feel good, but neither does she feel bad. She is not numb, not by any means. The problem is that Claire is experincering so many emotions as she stares at the body before her, emotions that she dose not know how to deal with and emotions that she must shove aside.

She and her personal team, hand picked only last week, are not yet finished. There is still another Peter out there, this one younger, unscarred, and from 11 years in the past. Logically Claire knows that this Peter does not deserve her hatred or to be hunted and brought down like an animal, for he has not betrayed her, nor has he taken everything from her. Emotionally Claire does not care what this time traveling Peter has or has not done. She loathes him simply because he exists, and she wants him dead.

She could easily lie to her team. She could claim that Peter was dead and choose not revel the existence of her Uncle's past self, for technailly they have fulfilled their orders. They have killed Peter Petrelli, the man who has murdered thousands, attempted to kill the President, and caused the entire nation to live in terror.

Claire does not. Lie, that is.

She tells her team of the existence of this other Peter, knowing that they will follow their orders.

Knox is only too eager to continue the hunt for Peter, just as Claire knew he would be. For Knox thrives on the fear of their targets and holds as much compassion for them as one would a deasised rat, not caring who they are or what they have done.

Daphne is on the other hand is afraid, and Claire can tell that she would rather have them pretend that they have completed their assignment.

It is a simple matter to convince her otherwise.

All Claire has to do is remind her of how ruthless Peter is and how much of an aid Molly will be in locating him. It is due to fear and the need to keep her family safe that Daphne agrees to use her daughter. She may have agreed reluctantly, but she agrees nevertheless.

So she and Knox wait outside the Parkman's apartment, waiting to hear the outcome of Molly's map quest, knowing that within 15 minutes they can be in Cuba if need be.

Claire had thought that this job, this inhuman society, and all the crap fate had thrown at her had prepared her for anything. She isn't prepared for what Daphne tells them.

When Claire hears that Peter is in Costa Verda, the same place where Gabriel is she feels fear race through her body.

Fear because she is going to come face to face with her old partner and friend, the one who abandoned her after he was forced to rape her and whom she was too cowardly to face despite knowing where he has been living for four years?

Possibly.

Fear because Claire has never dreamed that he would be dragged into this? Fear because after four years of trying _not_ to think about himshe is suddenly picturing him laying on the ground, dead in the same manner as Peter?

Yes.

Claire hides the real reason for her fear, irrationally experiencing anger when Knox questions the source. She spits out the first excuse she can think of, knowing that her team will take the pathic excuse that she is afraid to murder her Uncle once more at face value.

One by one she and Knox hold onto Daphne so that she can run them to Costa Verda, and as Claire speeds along she prays that the day does not end in with a bullet hole between Gabriel's eyes.

**PART THREE**

A half hour latter Claire crawls slowly to the surface of the now radiation destroyed wasteland that was, only that morning, Costa Verda California.

She pushes a large slab of… something out of her path, ignoring the way that the movement scrapes even more of her nearly ellimated muscle tissue off her body, and experiencing a no doubt unhealthy pleasure at the sight of her fingers blackening further as she maintains her grip on the object.

As of right now there is no pain, for all of her nerves have been blasted away. Claire anticipates the moment when they return, when she heals and the searing agony will race through her body. For that will be physical pain, and that is a pain that Claire knows how to deal with. What Claire does not know how to deal with is the agony that she can feel building inside of her**.**

Gabriel is dead, exploding along with half of California and the lifeless body of his son only a few feet behind him. A son that Claire had not even known had existed. At least, she hadn't known the identity of the child sitting at the table quietly eating his breakfast until he had screamed "Daddy!", his brownish - green eyes wide and terrified as he stared at her.

Claire can just barely make out a sliver of sunlight far above her, her vision impaired by her still healing retinas and the mountain of unidentifiable objects blocking her way. Claire continues to fight her way to the surface, her lungs struggling to heal as she breathes in radioactive fumes and tears running unnoticed down her charred face as the events that led to this replay in her mind.

_Claire had thought she could handle this, that she could remain as cold as when she had faced Peter in that empty warehouse. What she hadn't fully counted on was being in the presence of her old partner, nor the sheer terror in his face as he stared at his son, held captive in Knox's arms. When Claire sees that terror she has to forcibly prevent herself from ordering Knox to let the boy go, for that mind numbing terror within Gabriel's face is exactly what she had felt on the day that she had lost her child. _

_But then she sees Peter standing next to Gabriel, and as she feels that familiar rage and loathing build inside her once more she keeps her gun trained on the boy. _

_Claire ignores the strange compulsion she can feel coming over her to look closer at the child she is threatening, turning a blind eye to the features that somehow seem so familiar. Claire looks away from the shock and fear she can see in Gabriel's eyes as he looks at her and turns a deaf ear to his attempted apology. She closes her mind to Peter's desperate negotiation attempt, pushing aside her knowdgle that this version of her Uncle has not done anything to her that would warrant his death. Instead Claire tells him what she had wanted to tell "her" Peter in that warehouse._

"_You took __**everything**__ from me!" Claire snarls, her long repressed emotions issuing from her mouth like poisonous bullets as her body becomes taunt with rage. _

_Claire doesn't want to see. She doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to hear._

_All she wants is to see Peter __**suffer**__. She wants to see him __**hurt**__ as she had hurt, to witness him __**bleeding**__ as she has been endlessly bleeding for four years. Claire wants to see him __**dead**__, just as she has been dead for so long. _

_Claire looks one last time at Gabriel's son, the child whose life she is treating with cool indifference, just as she has treated the lives of so many others. _

"_What happened to you? How did you get this way?"____Peter asks._

"_I learned how to take care of myself." Claire whispers, her voice breaking for the first time as the memory of Nathan's curl words, a desolate apartment, empty blue eyes, and her own desperate pleas echo in her ears. _

_Claire raises her gun, steeling herself to shoot the child in front of her – Noah. His name is Noah -, and as she sees the green flecks in his eyes she thinks for one moment that this boy could have been hers. And then an image of Gabriel, heartbroken over the death of his son comes to her minds eye, and for the first time in all her years of service to Pinehurst Claire knows that she cannot, __**will not**__, shoot this boy. She can't bear to cause Gabriel the same soul destroying pain that she has suffered, the pain of loosing your child. _

_All of a sudden there is a strong blow delivered to her jaw and Claire is falling to the floor, unable to move despite the chaos rapidly taking place around her. She can't move even as she sees Peter attack Daphne or as she hears Gabriel's words to his son, not even when she sees Gabriel careening toward him, the heavy oaken table heading straight toward the four year old boy._

_Claire can't move because she can feel an unseen hand striking her face, is experincerincing once again that mindless fear and the memory of never ceasing helplessness that touch always brings._

_It is the sound Gabriel screaming, the reverberation one long cry of soul shattering agony that any parent will instantly recognize, that brings Claire back to her surroundings. _

_When her eyes focus on her former friend and she sees the radiation pouring off him, Claire forces herself to her feet and raises her gun… but she is too late. As Gabriel explodes and Claire feels a brief flash of fiery pain consuming her as her flesh is disengrated away, the one thought in her mind is; No!_

"_No" for the explosion that will destroy thousands of people?_

"_No" because Gabriel has experienced the same pain that she has, the very pain that she had been prepared to force upon him less then a minute previously?_

"_No" because Gabriel is now surly dead as the ability stolen from Ted Spruges rushes unchecked throughout his body, causing catastrophic amounts of radtion to ravage him from the inside out?_

_The answer to all of these possibitlies is "yes." The answer however, does not matter. For Gabriel is exploding and Claire can do nothing to stop it._

Claire finally breaks the surface of the rubble, gasping desperately for fresh air despite knowing that it is an excrise in futility. The air is filled with deadly amounts of radiation, which means that not only is there no clean air, but it is also preventing her from healing. Claire avoids looking down at her body, but even so she knows that as of right now she is little more then a chared corpse with fragments of muscle laid sparsely over soot blacked bone. All around her the surface of the earth is either covered in fragments of rubble or is a barren wasteland of scorched earth and black ash. Claire avoids looking at that as well, for she knows that the "ash" is not only ash, but the disgentared remains of thousands of corpses.

Somewhere in these ashes is not only Gabriel's remains, but the ones of his son, Peter, and her team as well.

No, that is not quite right.

For although Knox, Daphne, Gabriel, and his son are dead, scattered in fragments upon the ground, Peter is still alive. This Peter can heal just as his counterpart could, just as Claire herself can.

As long as there is a Peter Petrelli in this timeline, it will never be over.

It is the memory of Gabriel, however, that cause her tears to flow. It is the recollection of the terror and disbelief in his face that force the pained gasp out of her throat. Last of all, it is the echo of his agonizing final moments that cause her somehow still intact heart to skip a beat.

The problem is at this moment in time all of Claire's nerves have been blasted away and her eardrums have ceased to exist. This means that even though she is aware of the memories and the emotions attached to them she is not aware that she is crying, nor can she hear the agonizing gasp that her tattered vocal cords have managed to produce.

Someone, however, has caught the brief sound that is so out of place in this deadly, barren wasteland that is the result of one parent's grief, for all of a sudden there is a person in a bright red radtion suit crouching down in front of her. Claire is just about to close her eyes and pretend to be a corpse when she recognizes the individual. It is René, his dark face impassive as he grabs onto what left of her body and pulls her from the rubble. As he swings her into his arms Claire feels herself becoming lightheaded, and she knows that René's power must be completely blocking her healing ability, which also means that she is quickly dying. Through her rapidly darkening vision Claire makes out the form of Alice Flint running toward them and Claire allows her eyes to close, knowing that within moments Alice will teleport them back to Pinehurst. As Claire feels René handing her over she tries to summon enough strength to tell him to look for Gabriel's body, but as she is becoming weaker by the second it doesn't seem like she will be able to accomplish that task.

Just before Alice teleports her back to Pinehurst, where her body will be able to heal and the pain will return before fading once again into nothingness, Claire hazily hears her speak four words to René.

"We found Petrelli alive."

**PART FOUR**

Claire exists the integration room where her father and the past version of Peter now reside, alone.

Halfway down the hall Claire pauses, looking down at the bloody scalpel in hand. Claire would have liked to pretend that those cuts on Peter's chest had been for Daphne and Knox, but she knows that they are really for Gabriel and his son.

As Claire thinks about them she feels a fresh wave of shock and grief, followed by puzzlement as the image of Gabriel's son appears in her mind's eye. Despite never having seen him before he seems so familiar to Claire, as if she had seen him before.

His hair had been a lighter color then Gabriel's, appearing to be a mixture of dark hair as well as blonde. The color of his eyes had been a deep brown like Gabriel's, but there had been flecks of green intermingling with the darker shade. His nose had been small and straight, his cheekbones were Gabriel's, and his mouth… had been Nathan's mouth.

_Gabriel's son had had Nathan's mouth?_

All of a sudden his features snap into place, leaving Claire reeling backward against the wall.

Those brown eyes, the high cheekbones, and the dark color of his hair had come from Gabriel. The blonde tint to his hair, those green flecks in his eyes, and that small and straight nose belonged to her. His mouth had come from Nathan… his grandfather.

Gabriel's son had been _her_ son, _their_ son.

Her uncle had given Noah to his father upon taking him away from her, and had then lied about his death months latter.

Noah.

Gabriel had named their child Noah.

He had named their son after her father.

Noah's pajama's had been blue with pitchers of Spiderman.

Her son had liked Spiderman and waffles, he had straight hair, and he'd been four years old.

He had called Gabriel "Daddy", and had been terrified of her, his own mother.

He had been crushed to death.

Her son and his father were both dead because she had not been willing to listen to Gabriel when he tried to apologize. She had ignored that compulsion to look closer at Noah while Knox was holding him in his arms, for if she had then she would have seen the truth. They were now nothing more then ash somewhere in the remains of Costa Verda because she had not been able to push aside her hate for Peter, and leave alone the Uncle who had never committed a single wrong against her.

Gabriel and Noah Gray, one the former friend that had meant so much to her, and the other a son whom she had not known existed, were both dead.

It was her fault.

She had killed them.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Section Two: Chapter One**

**2019 – 2026**

**PART ONE**

Claire doesn't need to be in the same room to know, she wouldn't even have to be in the state of New York. Minutes after she realizes the truth about …. her so-…. the boy who…. Noah Gray the news reaches her ears, and within two hours it is appearing on every television and radio broadcast in the world.

Nathan Petrelli is dead. The President of the United States has been murdered within a Pinehurst interrogation room, and the known terrorist by the name of Peter Petrelli has vanished.

The entire building is in an uproar, with words, emails, and paper flying everywhere like they're in the eyes of a hurricane.There are secret service, cops, and forensic specilestest hurrying into the building and sealing off the room where Nathan's body lays. The media is having a field day, cameras, vans, and reporters blocking the entrance to the building for a two miles. There are rumors that the First Lady is being taken into protective custody and that the two secret service agents who had been outside the door at the time of the President's murder are being detained.

Everyone inside Pinehurst (most likely the world as well) is either calling friends and family, running frantically around the building, or are plotting their escape route, terrified that their identity as an inborn special will be discovered.

Everyone that is, except the deceased President's unknown daughter.

Claire is operating on autopilot as she calmly walks to her living quarters, stuffs her clothes into a cardboard box, grabs the shoebox from under the bed, slips out the back door, and drives away. She has driven halfway to Canada before the fog in her mind lifts, forcing her to become aware of her surroundings. Night has fallen (sometime ago if the leval of darkness is not caused by overcast), she is the only car on the road, and her radio is blaring.

"Attempts to locate and capture Peter Petrelli, the main suspect in the murder of President Petrelli have so far been unsussful. Government forces remain confident that-"

Claire reaches over and savagely twists the dial, cutting off the voice abruptly. She reduces her speed and pulls off to the side of the road, listening to the heavy silence after she cuts the engine.

_What am I doing? Where am I going?_

To be honest Claire does not know. She does not know why, when she was taken over by autopilot she choose to run, as opposed to staying. Claire has no idea where she is running to, why she is heading in this sepfic direction, or even what she will do once she gets there.

What Claire does know is that she is feeling a desire to disappear. She _has_ to disappear, she can't stay in New York nor is it possible for her to be employed by Pinehurst. It is impossible for her to remain because…. because she killed Gabriel and his – her - _their_ son. It is out of the question for Nathan is dead, more likely then not taking her protection with him. It is too difficult because she can't _deal _with it any longer, she can't continue to kill and hunt and _fight_ – all to save herself from a hell that she has lived in for ten years, ever since the day that the existence of her kind was reveled. Claire has to vanish, has to escape from Pinehurst and New York, from being "Golden Panther" and the murderer of children.

Claire needs to flee from the memory of apartments with ebony wood floors, fire against her feet, and screams of "Daddy!". She doesn't want to have natural blond hair or a birthmark on her breast. Claire wishes she did not have the ability to heal from any wound or inspire care from an electric wielding sociopath and a reformed physopath. She wishes she were a Bennett by birth, rather then a Petteril. She dose not want to _be_ Claire Bennett anymore. She wants to sleep without nightmares, wear colors other then black, and be able to experience touch without feeling fear. She wants to fall asleep and never wake up because she is _tired_, she is so, so tired.

Was this how Meredith had felt? This oppressive weight accompied by the need to… erase herself from the existence of everything she had known? To run from memories and people until they have become nothing more then shadowy forms that do not have a snowman's chance in hell at reaching her? Until the all the pain and weariness have been left far behind, never to be encountered again in spite of however many centuries she may live?

For Meredith, who had no connections, home, or even a birth certificate running might have posed no trouble. She had probley been accustomed to flying under the radar, forgering personal information required for obtaining a job, or changing her name every month or so.

Her daughter however, is in a much different situation. It is not that Claire has objections to changing her name, laying low, working as a stripper, or even living out of her car for months at a time. The issue is what it always seems to come back to: Nathan and Pinehurst.

How can Claire run when her files do not show that she has formally resigned from Pinehurst, thereby gaining their protection? When she must now constantly look over her shoulder for those who wish to see her in the camps? When it's possible that there is some obscure file somewhere that confirms she is the daughter of the President, not the Bennett's?

If all of the employee files were paper and she had Meredith's power of Pyrokinesis she would not have to worry about this. She could just incinerate all avible incrementing information and pay someone else to take care of the rest. Unfounatently for her, everything that could put her in danger is stored on computers, and Claire does not have any connections in Technail support – wait, computers!

Micah Sanders has the power to control and manipulate electronics, and in addition to that he is one of the leaders of the underground railroad known as "Ellen", the same organization that her dad had worked for. This underground railroad aids illegal's in hiding and avoiding capture by the government. The function is similar to the Witness Protection program, giving those on the run new identity's, backgrounds, homes and occupations. It will also delete all incrementing, traceable, or identifying information in regards to the individual in question. This program has helped thousands of illegal's to live a relatively normal life, and it can help her as well. Well, at the very least it can guarantee Claire's "formal resignation" and protection from Pinehurst through a complex network of lies.

Claire gets out of the car in order to reach the laptop that is hidden inside the intier of the door, but before she does so the former agent remains still for several minutes, watching and listening for the headlights of cars or the soft thud of shoes hitting the ground. Claire does not need to worry however, for the empty stretch of road is silent but for chirp of crickets and the low rustle of small animals scurrying through the underbrush. A far cry from the city, where cars, gunshots, helicopters, and people caused an introrable mass of noise.

After assuring herself that all threats are apparently absent Claire takes out the laptop, turning it on and typing in the code for "Ellen" once she on the welcome screen. Almost imeadtily a message flashes across the screen, the large block letters clear and precise.

**You have reached Ellen. This is a secure channel, please fill out the form that will be sent to you momentarily. Send it back when it is completed and the arrangements, including documentation and directions to your new location will be sent to you shortly.**

Claire only has to wait a few seconds before the form appears on the screen. On the surface it appears basic, the questions simple and informal, but Claire knows that the information she is required to give will aid in protecting her identity better then she herself ever could.

Ten minutes later Claire looks at the now completed form, which has compiled her life down to basic facts and simple names.

**Name:** Claire Sandra Bennett

**Gender:** Female

**Age:** 26

**Date of Birth:** March 3, 1993

**Height:** 5'1

**Weight: **109

**Ethnicity: **Caucasian

**Hair Color (Former/Current): **Light blond. Dark brown

**Eye Color (Former/Current): **Dark Green. Light Blue

**Nature of ability (for relocation purposes): **Rapid Cellular Regeneration. Nearly instaintious healing. Can not die. Can not age.

**Current Occupation:** Agent of Pinehurst

**Former Occupation:** none

**Current Location of Residence: **New York, New York.

**Former Location of Residence : **Odessa, Texas. Costa Verde, California

**Parents **

** :** Nathan Petrelli (deceased).Meredith Gordon (deceased)

**1B. Adopted :** Noah Bennet (deceased). Sandra Bennet (deceased)

**1C:** **Stepparents:** Tracy Petteril (living), Heidi Petteril (living)

**1D.** **Legal Guardian :** none

**Siblings:** Lyle Bennet (deceased), Simon Petrelli (living), Monty Petrelli (living)

**Spouse:** none

**Children:** none

**Other:** Angela Petteril (deceased). William and Anita Bennet (deceased).

**Country of Legal Residence: **Untied States of America

**Native Language/Spoken Language: **English

**Please send all available photos to confirm identification of yourself and those whom you have listed.**

The only question Claire had hesaited over was Children. Should she put his name, the son whose existence she had only known of for three minutes? Should she mention the pervious existence of a child with green flecked brown eyes and Spiderman pajamas?

No. For all intents and purposes she had never had a son. Noah Gray had solely been Gabri – _his_ son, not hers. He had seen his son's first steps and heard his first words. He had known what toys and books he liked and how his laugh sounded. He had raised him, loved him, and tried to protect him. All she had done was give birth to him, believe her uncle when he claimed that "her son" was dead, and in his final moments she had used him as a bargaining tool, threatened his life, and coldly witnessed his death. She had seen the devastation and rage of his father, had seen his control shatter as she had witnessed only once before, and then she had murdered the one person in that room who had loved the small four year old boy, so much so that even as he exploded he had been howling his grief to the world.

Claire didn't deserve to be labeled as a mother, not even on a form that would likely never be seen by human eyes. She does not have the right to be associated with his memory, not when she had abandoned her son, however inadvertently, and most of all not when she had murdered him and his father.

She puts herself down as never have having a child. It is not a lie.

Claire puts her curser over the small button at the very bottom of the screen. She understands that once she presses Send there will be no going back. She will be given a new identity, occupation, saleraly, and home, possibly in another country. She will not be able to contact anyone she is leaving behind, nor will she be able to mention a single detail about her old life to anyone she encounters. She will have to lie to her boss, the woman at the clothing store, even any friends or signifent others she may have in the future.

Claire does not hesaite to click the small button that will end her exitense as she has known it. She needs to be erased from existence, to escape from everything that makes her her. She is not leaving behind anyone who would miss her, let alone try to locate her. The only one who might have is dead, and anyway what would he want with something as broken and disgusting as her? The only thing that she can imange is that he would desire to kill her, which Claire would welcome if death was at all possible for her.

Claire doesn't feel that she is loosing anything by going into this relocation program. She has already lost her freedom, her right to be thought of as a human being, Elle, any family that she once possessed, Gabriel, and the child that was never truly hers. She has nothing to more to loose. She has already lost it all.

**PART TWO**

One week later Claire is laying underneath the covers in her new bedroomdeep in the forest of the Olympic Panisallyia , listening to the muffled sound of rain hitting the roof. Her dark hair is spread out on the pillow beneath her head, and as she wraps the blankets more securely around her naked body she has to fight the impulse that is nearly overpowering in it's intensity.

It is the instinctive urge to listen for smooth, gliding footsteps, to anticipate that invisible force that will yank her out of the bed and pin her against the wall, and to visualize the death that she will witness in those familiar eyes as she is destroyed as utterly as she had destroyed his son and brother.

Claire attempts to rationalize it away, but she is completely powerless against. It does not matter if she closes her eyes, tells herself over and over that it is impossible, or slips into dreams.

Her dreams are filled with terrified screams, desperate pleas, cold rage, and anguished howls. Claire will see the rage, destruction, and torment in Gabriel's face as he holds the limp, broken, and bloody form of his son in his arms. Often Claire will stand in front of her dream self, shouting at the woman with dark hair and ice blue eyes that is pointing a gun at the small and defenseless child. _Stop, that's your son! He's alive, Peter didn't allow him to be killed! Peter lied to you, that picture was fake! He sent him to Gabriel, he sent your son to his father! Let them go you stupid heartless bitch, you're going to kill them! YOU'RE GOING TO MURDER THEM!_

When she is awake she will hear, over and over again the last desperate, terrified, and grief stricken moments of the Gray's.

She will hear the fear and desperation in the voice of the one who was once her friend, now a man desperate to spare the life of his "brother", and a father frantic to save his son.

"_Don't do it, Peter! Teleport out now_!"

"_Noah, stay where you are buddy!" _

"_Go hide, over there, go now!" _

"_Noah, run! Run!" _

Claire, who should have been "mommy", the woman who meant love and safety, tickle fights and stories, will see Noah's eyes, wide with fear as he looks at her. Claire will recall her own voice, as cold and emotionless as the killer she has become, calmly threatening the life of her son.

"_What's it going to be? The boy, or you?"_

She will hear screams of _"Daddy!"_ shrill with terror as he runs to one person within the room whom he trusts to keep him safe. She remembers how Noah's terrified cry turned into alarm as he saw Knox hit his father, someone that, in the innocent and naive manner of children, Noah had most likely thought could never be hurt. Claire recalls how, when Gabriel was kicked across the floor, hurling straight toward Noah who was hiding behind the 120 pound table, his scream became even more alarmed, as if he was afraid for his father, rather then himself.

She will hear Gabriel's cry of _"THEY KILLED HIM!"_ the raw pain in his voice causing that ancient maternal instaint still present somewhere inside of Claire to respond to another parent who has lost their child. Claire recalls how it had tried to propel her forward, to make her offer the touch that she now so abhorred, even as she reached for her gun.

And last of all Claire will remember the wordless scream of her former friend as he looses control of his radtion power, the sorrow, rage, agony, and helplessness so regonizble to Claire even as she pulls the trigger. She regonizes the emotions within Gabriel's death scream because those very same emotions have been echoing through her frozen soul for four years.

So now, one week and two days later Claire Bennet, former killer and Pinehust agent, lies in a small bedroom in the middle of a rainforest. The one who is the murderer of her son, the once beloved uncle who had taken everything from her,and the former friend that had once meant the world to her, attempts to tell herself,once again that she does not need to listen for Gabriel's footsteps or expect to be slammed against a wall by his telekinesis. She does not need to because he is dead, perishing along with his son and brother in a agony fueled explosion that destroyed Costa Verda. Yet for hours Claire stares into the darkness, forcing herself to remain in that state between wakefulness and sleep, for she does not know which is worse; remaining awake and hearing the pleas and howls, or falling asleep and witnessing their deaths once more.

**PART THREE**

Everything about this place, from the tiny house to the wet forest surrounding it is foreign to her, a feeling that the Pinehurst killer inside of her does not like. A feeling that causes the former Demetriod hued eyes to dart around the forest, automatically searching for either the tall outline of her partner or the presence of a threat, both of which Claire logically knows are not forthcoming.

One of the things that get to Claire is the sights, sounds, and other sensations that surrounded this place.

Rather then gunshots or car horns, she hears the seemingly never ending rain pounding on the roof of the house and the frequent calls of unseen birds. Claire will hear the quiet hum of the rarely used electricity, the sound of her own breathing, and the rustle of small animals rather then angry shouts, the barking of dogs, and the wine of sirens.

At night Claire will see the dim shadows of green, moss covered trees on the walls, their branches draped with a thick canopy of it like long, thin fingers, instead of the harsh glare of headlights or the outline of the Cryslar building. She will catch glimpses of deer, black bears, and foxes, barn owls, mice, and tree frogs as opposed to stray dogs, pigeons, cars, and homeless people.

She feels the shifting texture of the ground beneath her shoes (hard in some areas, soft and spongy in others) instead of solid concrete or polished wood. Claire experiences the soft, furry texture of emerald green moss on her palm and the thick, slimly, goopy feel of black mud between her fingers rather then a heavy metal of a gun or cold, dead skin.

Claire smells the odor of rotting wood, rain, and must instead of the aroma of hot dogs on a street corner. Instead of the stench of chemicals, food, human waste, garbage, and cigarette smoke, the scent of clean air and far off flowers will reach her nose.

Another thing is her lack of employment, something that she has not experienced once throughout her entire adult life – until now that is.

Normally Claire would be required to do whatever occupation Ellen assigned her, but they had given her the status of "unemployed due to living off of substantial inheritance". As much as Claire does not want to admit it, she knows that it makes sense to have her live in such a desolate location (by which she means 20 miles from the nearest city or town, 10 miles from the nearest neighbor along the main road, and at the end of 12 miles of a narrow, unpaved road deep into the rainforest), as well as listing her as unemployed. When you don't age it is generally a good idea to remain as far away from people as possible. That way, assuming face to face interaction is kept to the bare minimum, they will have a more difficult time figuring out that even though you appear to be 19 years old, you have been living in the same place for 15 years.

Then there is her house. It is not that it is falling down around her or has a snake nest in the basement, it is only that the square, one level dwelling is unlike any of the large, spacious, and expensive apartments and houses that she has lived in her entire life.

When you enter the house you step directly into a modest sized kitchen complete with a square wooden table, three chairs, a refrigerator, stove, sink, and a counter and cupboard unit.

Across from the kitchen is a living room barely large enough to hold the blue three seater couch with a large stain that looks supsiously like animal pee**,** a green Lazy-Boy armchair, the tall, wide window on the opposite wall, and a tall lamp.

Down a short and wide hallway there is two rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom is of medium size and contains what one would ushally expect; a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, a small closet, and a shower. The bedroom contains a full sized bed on a four-poster box frame, a closet and dresser, a nightstand with a lamp, a large window, and a medium sized desk.

There is also a small garage attached to the house, but contains nothing except her car, which is in need of some serious repairs.

It wasn't until Claire discovered what was on the wall of the hallway that she realized how Ellen expected her to survive with no way of earning money.

On the wall is a large touch screen computer that apparently serves two functions.

The first is a "home shopping network". The computer will take Claire through hundreds of the latest items such as tables, couches, carpeting, TVs, dishes and clothes, even shampoo, laundry soap, books, household tools, and food. All Claire has to do is select which item she wants, type in the amount, and after a few minutes the item will come out of an extremely large slot near the base of the computer. The only catch is that Claire cannot select any furniture that is not proportionate to the house, and she can only replace the items when the "expiration date" has passed (which Claire assumes means when springs are about to poke out of the lining of her mattress). Also, because Claire has no way of disposing of her garbage other then by burying it, when she has finished with something like a bottle of shampoo, all she has to do is place it in the slot and it will be whisked away, presumably to a dump somewhere.

The second function of the computer appears to be to give her news and updates regarding the status of the laws concerning those with inborn powers, as well as alerting her as to when and where a sweep will take place.

All in all, it's not a bad place in which to spend a week or two. Too bad Claire has to live here for the next however many years.

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Nope, do not own.**

**Section Two: Chapter Two**

**PART ONE**

Claire has lived in this forest for three months, and today marks a whole week since it rained (which is a noteworthy occasion in and of itself).

The dirt road leading to the house has morphed from thick, black goop into mostly hard, slightly damp dirt, which Claire decides to take advantage of by going for her ushal run outside.Normally Claire dosen't care if it's raining and will typically run in all areas of the forest, regardless if the area in question is mostly dry or practically a swamp. However, due to the near constant downpour of the past week that has turned the entire landscape into either a small pond or quicksand like mud, she has been running on the treadmill in the basement that she had selected from the hallway computer.

Yet today the sun is shining brightly through the slight overcast, the little mud that remains will no longer pull off her shoes, and she can go outside for more then a minute without looking as if she just climbed out of a swimming pool.

Claire is currently sitting at the kitchen table, her dark, high ponytail swinging behind her as she bends down to tie her new black and blue running shoes. As she ties the laces Claire frowns at the bright electric color tangled around her fingers. She hadn't realized that the shade was so intense when she ordered them almost two weeks ago. The laces are so bright in fact, that Claire knows that they will flash through the greenery like a homing beacon attempting morose code. Claire considers requesting new laces, ones that will not match the equally bright Sketchers logo streak along the side of the shoes. This is something that her seven years of training and her Pinehurst agent side approves of, but her own eye for color and the years of living as an unofficial Petteril (which consisted largely of living in environments where everything complimented each other color wise, and being forced to constantly remain conchiese of her own wardrobe color scheme so that she didn't "embarrass" Nathan or Tracy) rebels against.

Claire continues to look at the laces, feeling herself becoming irrationally angry the longer she sees that the shoe logo and the laces match.

_That shade of blue matches your skin tone so well. _

_Don't wear those brown shorts, Claire. They look disgusting with your hair color. _

_Make sure your clothes match today, Claire. I'm addressing the public and I expect to see you in the audience looking prestantable. You may not be my daughter legally, but you can at least make an effort to dress like you are._

As the memories of voices and the harsh words they uttered fade Claire becomes aware that the laces are wrapped around her fingers so tightly that they are turning purple. Claire quickly unravels the constrictions from her fingers, her anger steadily rising as she sees the bright neon shade in front of her gaze.

_Good lord, Claire. Put on different shoes, those sandals make you look like you're on your way to a strip club!_

Claire flashes to her feet abruptly, yanking off the offending shoes and hurling them with all her might across the kitchen, her ire only increasing as they smash the glass face of the clock hanging on the wall.

_Screw it! I hate this color and I don't want it. I'll order shoes that are brown with purple laces if I want to. Who the hell cares if they match!._ She thinks angrily as she stomps over to the hallway computer, fully aware that the tone of her thoughts and her current manner make her seem like a spoiled teenager throwing a tantrum because her dad forbade her to buy a $300.00 dress.

Claire reaches the computer just as the phone rings, a loud, shrill sound that increases her foul mood as it stabs into her eardrums. Claire glares at the acursered device laying on her kitchen table, wishing that she had her gun within reach so she could shoot the damn thing. Unfournaantly she doesn't, and the earsplitting noise continues even as she walks over to pick it up. Claire was going to simply allow it to ring, but it might be a telemarketer (which is the only type of calls that she ever receives out here), in which case the only way to make them stop calling is to unplug the cord.

"What?" she bites out into the mouth piece, hoping that this danm telemarketer will get the hint and hang up so she can order a pair of shoes that are uglier then sin.

"Hello, Claire. You really shouldn't speak to callers that way, it might scare them off."

The voice on the other end is by no means the hesitant tones of a telemarketer rethinking their decision to call this lonely address. In fact the low, smooth, and ice cold voice does not issue from the phone at all, but rather from behind her.

Claire freezes momentarily, her mind going blank with shock. 

A sharp _click _soundsbehind her, causing the paralysis spell to shatter like the face of her clock two minutes previously. Claire spins around quickly, and the sight that meets her wide eyes is one that should be impossible.

Gabriel is standing in her open doorway, his blue-black hair slightly overlong, his eyes filled with tightly leashed anger, and his gray clad arms crossed over his chest as he hangs up a cell phone single handily.

"No, no it's not possible. I saw you explode, I killed you."Claire whispers, her training combind with the wave of shock preventing her legs from obeying the order from her brain to back away.

"Well, it's a funny thing, Claire. On the night Doyle forced us to fuck I accidently absorbed your power. I'm now as indrustable as you." He says casually, as if being forced to rape her and never being able to die is no more noteworthy then shoveling snow.

Gabriel slowly walks into her house, his dark eyes never leaving her face as he advances toward her. When he is within an inch of her body he stops, his tall form towering over hers as stars down at her, his brown irises gazing into her blue like a wolf changeling a fox. Claire, however is passed her initial fear and coldly returns Gabriel's deadly gaze with an equally lethal one of her own. Where seconds before there was a fearful and shocked young woman now stands a murderer with as much experience and capability as the man in front of her, one that had stared into a cell and witnessed a woman eaten alive by rabid dogs, and that has sneered at the putrid odor of hundreds of decomposing corpses. Gabriel's mouth turns up briefly at the corners before he continues his invasion into her house, and Claire knows that he has aknowdgled the danger in her eyes, and despite his anger he respects her all the more for it.

As Gabriel passes her Claire glances quickly at his shoulders, which are so tense they look as if they are craved from stone. She feels a mixture of relief and apprehension at the sight. On one hand the tightness of his shoulders means that Gabriel is fighting to control his Hunger. One the other hand, if his shoulders really are as tense as they appear, then he is very close to loosing control as well.

Upon reaching the opposite side of the table Gabriel moves one of the chairs back before sitting down and cashually putting his feet on the table, lounging there as if he had not taken her power, returned from the "dead", and has more likely then not has come to kill her.

"How did you find me?" Claire asks frostily as she uncouchiensly angles her body so that she is leaning toward the butcher knives that are in the knife rack on the counter. Her tone and body language may suggest that Claire couldn't care less if she receives a response, much less if Gabriel takes a long dive off a short pier, but she is genuinely interested in knowing the answer. Either he had acquired some amazing hacking skills within the past four years, or he has Molly Parkman's ability.

Claire dose not think that the first is very likely, for although Gabriel is extremely gifted when it comes to understanding the operations of technology, the entire time she had been his friend he has never shown a single ounce of interest in developing that technical understanding into a career path.

Now the second option…. that is much more likely, especially when Claire takes into account that the loss of his brother and son could very well have caused him to loose control of his Hunger. Well that, and the troubling proof that despite not a single person who has gone into Ellen has ever been found, Gabriel has most definitely found her.It is also the possilbitly that has Claire worried, both for Sylar and Gabriel. If Gabriel has lost control of his Hunger, then who knows how many people he has killed? In these past months how much stronger has the craving for power and knowdgle become? What level of guilt, self loathing, fear, anger, pain, and greed had he already surpassed, assuming that is, that he is still capable of feeling anything at all?

How much of _Gabriel_ remains in the man whose presence and sent has haunted her apartments, whose agonized voice has invaded her dreams, and who is now the only one besides herself that will still be on this earth far after the seven horsemen have descended from the heavens and the lion lies down with the lamb?

How much of _Sylar_ has consumed the one across from her, whose dark laugh has echoed in her ears, the one whose touch had long ago been burned into her skin, whose Hunger and fire matches her own? Who will be there when the trumpets sound and the ultimate battle between good and evil, between God, Jesus, and Lucifer, between the angles of heaven and the demons of hell envelop the earth?

What amount of both intermingle in the man across from her that is currently staring at her with the hungry eyes of a predator? Is it because of _Gabriel's_ influence that Sylar has not already beheaded her or flung her across the room while he stood in her doorway? Does she have _Sylar_ to thank for fact that Gabriel has not been captured by Pinehurst? Should she blame Gabriel for possessing her power in the first place? Should she assume that Sylar has already murdered dozens more, or has Gabriel been able to maintain control over the nearly overwhelming strength of his Hunger all this time? When the killer within her had seen the threat in his eyes, and had responded to her murderous counterpart with a promised threat of her own, which one had looked at her with respect? Was it simply wishful thinking, or had Claire detected an extremely faint hint of dark gold beneath the layers of ebony, onyx, and crimson? When their time finally does come, weather in 2,0000 years or 300, will he drag her into hell with him, or will he give her his seat on the train to heaven?

In any case, whether it is Sylar or Gabriel sitting across from her doesn't matter at this moment, not when he smirks at her tone and raises his eyebrow in that arrogant manner that has never failed to aggravate her. That smirk tells Claire that he knows exactly what she's thinking; more to the point how she is assuming he was able to locate her, while the raised eyebrow lets her know that he is unsurprised and amused at the direction of her assumption.

"Your second guess would be correct. I took Molly Parkman's ability." He says lazily as he folds his hands over his stomach.

"She got away from me the first time, you know. I'd already gotten to her parents, but the police showed up before I was able to acquire that extremely interesting power of hers. This time she wasn't so lucky, didn't even put up much of a fight."He continues, his voice taking on a remanescile quality, as if he is remembering an adolescent crush.

If this was Claire's first meeting with this man, she quite possibly would have believed that he was serious, that he had given into his Hunger and killed an eleven year old girl in addition to stealing her ability. Fourtantly for Claire this is far from their first meeting, let alone the first time she has heard him speak of acquiring powers, and she knows that he is faking. She does not doubt that he has Molly's ability, but as for actually giving into his Hunger? No. He somehow managed to remain in control. Claire is aware of this for she has heard the Hunger enter his voice so often she can instantly gaudge the intensity just by the slightest alteration in pitch.

When the Hunger for acquisition comes upon him, his voice will take on a dreamy, needful, and addicted quality. Claire knows that tone, knows the passion, fire, beauty and danger that can so easily engulf it. Claire has heard that _need _in his voice, like a snake that coils around his bones, an addictionthat puts the strongest drug to shame.

Claire knows thatif he truly had given in and killed Molly, then the lingering passion would fill his voice, his eyes would light up with remembered pleasure, and that need to satisfy his Hunger yet again would overwhelm him, most likely having already resulted in Claire's own death. As the man before her speaks of Molly's power everything that _should_ be there is absent, from the fire in his eyes to the passion in his voice. Oh, he is doing a remarkable job at faking of course, for if any one of their former colleagues heard him they would turn him over to Danko without a second thought as to his innocence. Claire, however knows that he is lying, but for what purpose she has no clue. Perhaps to intimidate her? If that's the case he's going to have to try much harder.

"Did you kill her?" Claire says calmly, asking because she knows that is what he wants to hear.

"Why would you care if I did? You and I both know that you have no problem with gunning down a child." He remarks, his voice transforming from the low growl of a panther into the cold hiss of an enraged viper.

_The boy is cowering underneath the sink, his feet scrambling as he urgentaly tries to push himself tighter against the thin plywood behind him. When he sees them looking his way he stuffs his hand into his mouth and bites down harshly, as if by stifling the sound of his breath he will remain unnoticed despite the sparks flying up into the air around him._

_**Please don't hurt me!**_

_The small, chubby body of a three year old lays in the middle of the floor. Her red hair forms a curly cloud of soft down feathers around her head, a stark contrast to the knife sticking out of her heart._

_**I promise I won't do it again, I swear! Please, I promise, I promise!**_

_The twins are yanked out of her arms, their sea colored eyes wide with terror, small, strong hands grasping desperately for hers and their nails scoring bleeding scratches on her wrists. _

"_Stop it! It's not their fault, they were implanted with powers as fetuses! They've done nothing, let them go, get off them!" _

_Claire's pericering cry mingles with the children's terrified howls as they are dragged away, the only thing preventing her from running after them is Gabriel's bone crushing grip on her wrists and his strong arm around her stomach, holding her tightly against his body. As Claire's scream morphs into heart wrenching sobs and she slumps, exhausted against him she feels his hands trembling as they loosen their hold. Gabriel moves in front of her and lowers himself to his knees, and as Claire feels his arms encircle her, as she wraps her own arms tightly about her friend and presses her forehead against his shoulder, she doesn't have to feel the drops falling on her neck to know that Gabriel is crying too. _

_**Leave my daddy alone! I'll be so good, please don't take my daddy!**_

_The young girl backs away from them, her body reeking with the stench of the sewers and her brown hair a tangled mess about her face. Her eyes are afraid, yet her hand is steady as she holds the gun, for this 16 year old girl cannot afford to miss, not when her body is the only thing shielding the children that are whimpering in the pipe behind her._

_Gabriel glances at her, and Claire knows that he sees what she does. A girl younger then herself, filthy, half starved, and already a mother of six, each one likely the result of prostitution or rape. They both see children with skeleton like bodies and eyes that are far to old, weary, and hollow for their years, the oldest no more then five. Both Gabriel and Claire see a starving, homeless, terrified family of seven, every one of which will be sent to the camps, when it is very likely that only one has an inborn ability. _

_Without a word spoken between them, the only communication taking place between brown orbs and green, they lower their weapons. Claire reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out her wallet, taking Gabriel's as he hands it to her, her partner's eyes remaining fixed on the girl and the more prominent threat of the gun. Claire quickly counts out $600.00, which she lays on a small area of dry cement near her foot. As soon as the money is on the ground both Claire and Gabriel turn and walk away. When they have gone 30 yards they stop and look back. Both the family and the money are gone. _

_**Mommy! Help me mamma!**_

"You know full well that's a lie you son of a bitch!" Claire snarls viciously, her calm demeanor vanishing in an instant.

How _dare_ this man claim that she had felt nothing? How can he say that she had no qualms when she was forced to take the life of a child? He has witnessed for himself the effect of her nightmares, how she would vomit and shake as her dreams were invaded by images of children, their tiny bodies littered with holes or their throat slit from ear to ear. He had deceted the remorse and sympathy in the set of her shoulders and seen the pain, horror, and disgust buried within her eyes as she listened to the their terrified shrieks. He had allowed her to cry and scream, had held her and cried along with her, and had taken her misplaced blows without a word of complaint. He _knew_, and still he had the _audacity_ to saythat she was unaffected?

"Is it, Claire? You didn't have an issue with it three months ago." He responds, his voice striking Claire with cold, deadly accuracy.

_What's it going to be? The boy, or you?_

Claire feels the blood drain from her face as the memory of threatening the life of her son comes back to her, causing that terrible sick wave of guilt to rise up once again, stamping out her rising anger.

"So, why did you kill Peter? I'm assuming you had _orders_?" he remarks sarcastically, appearing not to have noticed her deathly white face.

"Yes." Claire says shortly, not wanting to go into the details.

"And Noah?"

"It was an accident, I didn't want to kill him. His death wasn't intentional." she whispered.

Claire knows instantly that she had said the wrong thing when the dangerous light in his eyes sharpens and Claire suddenly feels herself violently spinning around via telekinesis. Her back slams against the table top and her head bangs harshly on the corner, causing her vision to temporarily become blurry before correcting itself.

Through the slight ringing in her ears she detects the low sound of Gabriel's feet hitting the floor, and Claire wonders if this is it. If this is the moment when what she has been expecting to occur since she saw him in her doorway finally happens. When Gabriel becomes angry enough to allow his control to slip, causing his Hunger to consume him and Sylar to relish in that deadly force. When she will feel the pain of her skull being removed and her blood running down her face and onto the table beneath her, when she feels a slight pressure as his fingers examine her brain, looking for the answers to a senseless death rather then the key to immorality.

After Sylar has finished, will he put her skull back on? When he has discovered her secrets, exposed her pain and felt the soul that is only just beginning to unthaw, after he sees the greasy film that covers her skin and has delved deep into her memories, will he allow her to heal? Will he remain determined that she must pay for the murder of his brotherand child and force her to live for hours, perhaps days with her brain exposed to the elements?To the dirt and dust, to the flies that will lay eggs on her brain and the crows and foxes that will devour her unfeeling flesh as she sleeps? If her skull is replaced after who knows how long will her brain heal along with her body, regrowing and repairing the absent or decayed neurons, synapses, lobes and cortexes? Will her ability to process emotion remain intact, or will she become a sociopath, incapable of experiencing empathy, morals, or love? Will she be able to see, hear, and speak, or will she be forever blind, deaf, and mute? What if her intellect and ability to comprehend social cues, language or complex concepts is compromised? Will she be able to feel pain?

Claire hears the low thuds of Gabriel rapidly walking the shot distance around the table, and then she feels his hot breath hitting her ear. It is a simple sensation, yet one that Claire never expected to feel again, and that brings back so many memories of pleasure and pain, joy and anger, warm skin and calloused hands. For every memory that comes back to her, his breath has never meant fear, acceptance of the inevitable, or danger directed at herself… until now.

For a few seconds there is silence before Gabriel's whispered voice reaches her ears, the sound speaking of scarlet blood, death, and soul deep agony. Claire recognizes the terrible rage, the tidal wave of turmoil, and powerful betrayal. She hears terrible loss, staggering self attribution, and a love that is impossible to destroy.

"_Never_ say that again, Claire. If Peter hadn't stopped you, you would have pulled that trigger."

_No, I wouldn't have. I wasn't able to go through with it at the last second, I couldn't bring myself to cause you the same pain that I suffered. I didn't know who Noah was, I swear I had no idea. You knew that our son was alive, he was with you all this time. Why did you never tell me? Following Peter there, threating Noah…. It was part of the job, one that you've seen me do dozens of times. You've done it too Gabriel. I've seen you kill children, threaten entire families… but I guess it was different this time wasn't it?_

" You may not have directly killed our son, but you were prepared to."

_I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

"What you're forgetting Claire, is how well I know you, how much I _understand_ you. Four years hasn't altered the fact that I know you better then you know yourself, that I can read you like an open book, my Golden Panther."

_No. You don't. You can't. Not anymore. At least, not completely – why did you voice just soften?_

" I know there's more to this that you aren't telling me. Things other then you feel very little remorse for killing Peter, yet feel an enormous amount were Noah is concerned."

_I feel nothing for Peter. Can you hear my thoughts, Gabriel? I FEEL NOTHING!_

"Important things."

_No, they're not. Not really._

" I _will_ find out what you're hiding, even if I have to cut off your skull to do so."

_Go ahead. Take everything I've got, learn whatever you need to, consume as much as you want Gabriel. It won't matter, I gave you almost everything a long time ago. Then you left, and Peter destroyed the rest.___

Out of the corner of her eye Claire sees Gabriel's finger began to rise. She closes her eyes, attempting to prepare herself for a flashback or the feeling of her own blood running from the soon to be neat incision just above her eyebrows. As the minutes tick away and Claire feels nothing but the hard table underneath her back she chances opening her eyes and glancing around, not sure what she is expecting to see.

What she witness is Gabriel standing next to her head, his shoulders tenser then ever before as he frowns down at her. His dark eyes are still angry, but Claire can tell that the focus of his anger seems to be divided. Half of his anger is directed at her (which makes sense), but the other half is directed at himself, (which makes no sense at all). Why is he still fighting to maintain control? Isn't he going to remove her head and examine her brain for the answers that he is clearly desperate for? Doesn't he want to know _why_ she threatened Noah and killed her Uncle?

When Gabriel sees her watching him his eyes harden into chips of amber and his lips tighten before he suddenly pivots around and walks rapidly to the door, whereupon he stops and looks back at her.

"Don't even think about running, Claire. With this ability I can find you no matter where you go, plus locating you over and over again would just annoy me." He remarks dispassionately.

Claire hears the muffled noise of Gabriel's footsteps making their way across the grass before she hears the high-pitched sound of a motorcycle engine screeching to life.

The sound has barely faded into the distance when Claire feels the power holding her to the table vanish. As she feels that invisible force disappear Claire leaps off the table, dashing to the front door in her stocking feet. Her hands, normally so sure and precise in their movements, fumble frantically with the door knob, unable to grip the smooth surface due to the previously unnoticed sweat that is beading her palms. When Claire is finally able to grasp the unhelpful instrument she flings the door open and flies down the steps, the dirt staining her socks as she stares down the dark, narrow, and empty driveway.

When Claire sees the tire tracks leading away from her house - from _her_- she dosen't pause to think. Claire begins to race down the driveway, unaware of the dirt turning her socks black, the lingering mud puddles that cause her to sink down up to her ankles, or that she is chasing after a man that is barely in control of his Hunger. All that she is aware of is that Gabriel is _leaving, _that he is walking away once again. Claire dose not hear the birds screeching above her or her heart pounding in her chest. She only hears the single, frantic thought in her head;_ come back!_

As she reaches the end of her driveway she doubles over gasping, holding onto her knees as she suddenly becomes aware of the sharp stitch in her chest, the mud staining her feet and legs, and the fact that she had just ran 12 miles in 30 minutes. When Claire regains her breath she straightens up, wiping the sweat out of her eyes as she looks about her. She has come to the main road, the endless tar surface stretching before her in both directions, making it impossible to determine which way Gabriel had gone.

Determine which way he had…. wait, what exactly had just happened? Had she really ran down 12 miles of dirt in just her socks, all to catch someone who would very likely attempt kill her? Just because Gabriel had not done so today, did not mean that he would spare her in the future. Besides, just because her emotions had gone into overdrive (anybody's would after seeing someone come back from the dead and being held hostage against a table), it did not mean that she truly wanted him to remain _with_ her, let alone in the same house. Right?

She walks slowly back to her house, her now bare feet hitting the dirt in a much different manner then before. This time Claire is aware of the loose gravel and patches of grass and moss beneth her soles, the loud cries of birds, and the scattered drops of rain that beat against her face. An hour latter Claire arrives at her front door, reaching the wide open doorway at the same moment that thunderclouds make their threatening appearance in the sky. Nothing about her proptey has changed. Her house is still painted a faded blue, vines continuing to climb up the railings of her porch in spite of her best efforts to keep the invaders at bay. The thick, dark forest that Claire has become so familiar with, the landscape of which Claire knows every tree and fern, every direction that leads to a dead end, and each one that leads to safty still lies within eight feet of her. The only sounds are still the normal ones of the forest and the low rumble of thunder off in the distance.

Claire might have thought the past two hours had all been a dream if it wasn't for the tire tracks in the dirt, her pulled back chair, the black and blue shoes in the corner near the stove, and the way she could still feel the heat of Gabriel's breath on her ear.

**TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: not mine**

**Section Two: Chapter Three**

**PART ONE**

Claire is sitting on her front porch in her pajamas, her legs crossed beneath her as she sorts Jellybeans. She has 40 red, 38 green, 30 yellow, 30 orange, 25 pink, 16 purple, and 12 black. Claire isn't planning on eating the brightly colored candy, in fact she doesn't even like them. She hates the sugary coating, the firm gelatin of the "bean" makes her gag, and the artificial flavors make her want to vomit.

She is doing this for no reason other then the fact that she's board stiff. It's no wonder, seeing as she hasn't had a job in five months, nor is she able to obtain one thanks to Ellen's documation. There is not a single person other then herself for 32 miles, which means that the only human contact she has had in four months was Gabriel. The problem with that is that he has not come back for a week and a half, and for all she knows their next meeting might not take place for 30 years. Claire knows that she could order a TV or a computer with internet access, but she wouldn't have the first clue how to hook them up and she doesn't feel like taking the time nor the trouble it would require to learn. If Claire had had any desire or ambition to read she would have been ordering books by the dozen, but she hasn't cared to read for some time, so that option is out as well.

It was only after Claire realized that, not only had she discovered that there was a lima bean wearing sunglasses and a top hat on the ceiling above her couch, but she was actually _talking_ to it and considering naming it "Dave", that she figured she should probley do something semi mentally stimulating. Otherwise she would thrill the sciecentists at Pinehurst by disproving their theory that she couldn't become insane. So here she is, sitting on the sturdy oak planks, her hair tied back in a braid, and sorting a sweet that she loathes, all to avoid conversing with the outline of a vegetable.She should really join a book club or something.

**PART TWO**

If you were to ask Claire what she had not noticed or forgotten about that day two weeks ago when Gabriel showed up at her front door, she would have said that she had not missed a thing. Claire would have claimed that had been aware of every action that Gabriel had and had not performed. She would have told you that she heard every pitch variation and emotion within Gabriel's voice, and that she knew that Gabriel had taken Molly Parkman's ability because his Hunger had demanded it. If someone inquired weather Sylar or Gabriel had been with her in that room, Claire would have replied "Gabriel", because his control over his Hunger, and subconsequantly Sylar as well, had not faltered.

Claire would have claimed all of these things. She would have been wrong.

What Claire is forgetting is that even when he had been at his angriest, when that predatory glow had lit his eyes and his voice had transformened into a deadly viper's hiss, Gabriel had not harmed her. When any other individual would have been frozen, decapaited, or telkanity impaled with household objects, Gabriel had only held her against a table and verbally implied what he knew would anger her. Claire has not realized that she, someone with a power that could transform him into the most powerful man in the world, had been literately by Gabriel's side for seven years, and not once had she felt the terrible sensation that so many others had. Claire does not yet comprehended that while she was laying on that table Gabriel had been parparered to do exactly what she had assumed he would, and he had not been able to bring himself to do so.

She does not recall how his voice had softened when he called her "my Golden Panther". Due to the fact that Claire had been so fixated on her shoes, she had not noticed Gabriel standing outside her window, watching her with concern as he saw the anger and pain forming in her eyes. It was only when Claire had thrown her shoes across the room, her facial expression so like Noah's had been, that Gabriel had remembered why he was here.

Claire dose not realize that Gabriel had taken an ability that he had not coveted, that his Hunger had not demanded he possess, just to find her. The fact that Gabriel now had a power that when he had not felt that need to _know/consume/acquire_ driving him, all so that she could never run from him is lost on her.

Claire does not know that when she had first landed on the surface of the table Gabriel's control _had_ broken, just for a few seconds. During those few, unnoticed moments it had been Sylar who watched her, the fire that Gabriel was always so careful to keep hidden blazing unrestrained in his eyesas he gazed at the figure that he knew so well. Claire had been completely under the control of the man whom the rest of the world knew as an unfeeling serial killer, but who in fact experienced emotion more deeply then any of them, who was still reeling from the death of his son.

Sylar, the one with a voice of molten ebony and liquid silk, so unlike the dark gold and calm water of his counterpart, had desired to touch the woman across from him.Sylar wished to feel her skin against his hand and experience the dark strands of her hair wrapped around his fingers, not to cause her pain, but to give the comfort that he knew she needed and to heal the suffering he could see etched so deeply in the soft planes of her face and overflowing from her sapphire eyes. The physopath who was able to kill dozens seemingly without remorse, who cared only for himself and craved power above all else had sat next to her. This was the same "physcopath" who had proven that he would kill and die for her a thousand times over, who experienced awe as he held his newborn son in his arms and had desired nothing more then to keep his family safe. This was the one whom had worked with Gabriel to fight the Hunger for the sake of Noah, and who had been afraid for the soul, safety, and life of a "brother" whom was not his.

The "dark side" of Gabriel Gray, the one who had subcommand to the Hunger and embraced it rather then fighting against it, who craved the feel of it roaring through his blood and convoluting around his bones and consuming his thoughts and desires, would never have been able to bring himself to harm this woman, even if he had wanted to.

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: Do not own**

**Section Two: Chapter Four**

**PART ONE**

Claire is standing at the kitchen table, nervously tapping her fingers on the scratched surface and ignoring the presence of the angry purple storm clouds in the dusky sky outside her front window. On the counter sits a pot of coffee (decaf for once), brewed two hours ago and long since forgotten. Normally Claire isn't the "decaf type" and would never brew it in a million years, let alone actually drink the revolting stuff, but in light of the cirmsatances Claire thinks she can be forgiven for her momentary lapse.

The cirmstances are as follows: The first being is that a mass sweep for illegal's is currently being conducted across the US, with special attention being paid to the desolate regions of the nation. The second troubling matter is that Gabriel has not come back for almost a month. Now that may sound like a good thing in theory (seeing as Claire hasn't had to face the prospect of death by scalping for nearly 30 days), but in reality it is not such a good thing. Gabriel's absence tells Claire that either his temper is rising with each day that he stays away, or that the government has somehow managed to catch him. Either way it's not good, not for herself, Gabriel, or the people who were assigned to bring him in.

It is due to the rumble of thunder overhead as well as the preoccupation of her thoughts that Claire does not notice the tall form of Gabriel standing in the doorway, at least not until that power that she has been imagining him employing against her for four months yanks her off her feet and literally hurls her across the room and into the kitchen wall.

After Claire has hit the wall with only a mildly painful impact (enough to cause a few bruises, but that's about it) she does not scream or struggle, for she is not afraid. Instead she quietly hangs there, finding the sensation of Gabriel's telekinesis pinning her several feet in the air like she is a scientific research project unfrightening as well as reassuring, most likely because of the familiarity of the act.

As Claire looks at him Gabriel begins to stalk towards her, the lithe body that she still can't fully believe is before her moving with all the grace and speed of a pissed off cobra.

Within seconds Gabriel has come to a halt in front of her, his expression containing tightly leashed anger as he looks at her closely, most likely expecting to see fear or anger on her face. Upon seeing nothing more then a slight wince as pain spikes through the bruises now littering her back Claire watches as his eyes, dark and filled with that bright, laser like instenty darken even further.

Claire fully expects to see his finger rise and feel the sensation of her skull being removed. Instead Sylar clenches his hands into fists and turns away. Sylar__walks to the counter, takes a clean coffee mug and spoon from the dish rack, pours some hot coffee into it, and stirs in a tablespoon of sugar from the imitation crystal jar next to the fridge. He then turns around so that he is facing her and takes a sip, leaning against the counter as he does so, as if this was still their apartment and nothing has changed between them. Sylar silently continues to drink from the mug for several minutes, appearing not to care about the heat blisters that must no doubt be forming on his tongue, paying no mind to the loud crashes of thunder, and ignoring the form of Claire hanging on the wall a mere five feet away.

Claire, for her part is not surprised by his actions for two reasons. The first being that Sylar had always done that; took her stuff and helped himself to her personal space without asking. The second reason is that she has seen this uncontextual behavior before. Sylar only does things like go through a suspect's mail or make himself tea while she was screaming at him for one purpose; he is trying to rein in his temper. He is attempting to control his Hunger, force down his temper, and manage the urge to kill. Those occasions are also when he is most dangerous, in words, if not in actions.

"Are you going to kill me, Gabriel?" she asks as he turns to refill his borrowed mug.

"I don't know." He says, his voice still simmering with anger has he stirs more sugar into his coffee. "I should try, you helped murder two out of the three people that mattered to me."

As the last comment leaves his mouth his back stiffens and Claire sees his grip tighten on the spoon, as if he is angry that he let something slip.

Gabriel looks at her, his face shuttered and unreadable, and Claire knows that whatever he says next will cut her. She knows that his next words will make her bleed as surly as his knife did so long ago.

"Tell me, Claire. Did it feel good to shoot your Uncle in cold blood? Did you enjoy the terror in Noah's eyes as you pointed a gun at him? At your own son? Did your love hearing me plead for his life, shouting at him to run?"

At the last sentence his voice breaks slightly, and he shuts his eyes as if the pain of reliving those finial minutes is costing him so much more then he is willing to let her see.

"No." she says, feeling disgust and that old anger against Peter force it's way to the surface.

She may not have felt bad about killing Peter, but she had not felt good either. As for Noah…

"If you _truly t_hink that I enjoyed seeing terror in his eyes, hearing him scream… listening to you plead for his life, then why haven't you decapited me? How about setting me on fire or sending 1,000 volts of elecatiry into my brain? Why don't you give me what we both know I deserve?"

When Claire had begun to speak her voice was a combtion of anger, confusion, and disgust, the words forced out through clenched teeth. By the time she got to the end her teeth were unclenched and her voice was low and horse.

Anyone else would have thought that her voice has horse because her throat was clogged with tears or she was experiencing fear at the prospect of death_**. **_Gabriel, however, isn't anyone else, and Claire knows that he heard the question within her words. She is aware that he knows what she is asking when he clenches his jaw and looks away, as if he knows why he hasn't killed her, but dose not want revel the reason, especially not to her.

When he raises his hand, for one moment Claire thinks that he is about to comply with her request, and that five years from now someone will find her decapited skeleton, evidence of severe electrical burns and lacerations upon the bones. Instead Claire feels herself being lowered to the floor, that force causing her legs taking three steps not of their own violation, before Gabriel uses his power to hold her in place beside the kitchen table.

"I'm not going to kill you." he says as he drains half of his coffee before beginning to pace the small kitchen.

"So you don't feel bad about killing Peter –"

_The prick of a needle in her arm… your child's better off without you… I've always loved you_

"He deserved it!" Claire interputs, her hate audible in her voice.

Gabriel continues to pace, the only sign that he has noticed her comment is the way he uses his Cryokinesis power to freeze the coffee mug still in his hand.

"but you do feel bad for murderering our son."

"He was your son, never mine." Claire says before she can stop herself.

It is then that Claire sees his control crack, the deadly force of his anger that he has kept so tightly contained forms a hairline split along the glass plane of his control. Claire has a split second view of his body tensing before quicker then a snake Gabriel wrils on her, using his forearm and greater body mass to slam her against the wall by her throat. Claire notices, however is that the pressure against her throat is not as strong as it should be, and she briefly wonders if Gabriel is using his telekinesis to hold her up instead of his arm alone.

"Noah was _our_ son, Claire." He snarls, vicious rage in every syballe as he pushes his arm harder into her throat "It doesn't matter if you didn't want him,- "

"If I didn't want-" she forces out past the mild pressure constricting her windpipe as she instantivtly grips his arm, trying to remove the obstruction. As the implications of Gabriel's words register Claire feels disbelief, anger, and oddly enough a sense of betrayal. _Is that really what Peter had told him? Was that the reason he had given when he put Noah into Gabriel's arms? That she hadn't wanted him?_

"- If you gave him to Peter like he was a piece of worthless trash – "

"Peter took him from me!" Claire screeched, Gabriel's accusations and the blanet evidence of Peter's lies forcing the words that she had kept buried for so long to explode out of her. There is silence in the wake of her revelation, broken only by Claire's harsh, labored breathing and the muffled noise of rain and thunder.

For several minutes all Claire can do is fight to breathe past the tightness in her chest, struggling to force down an unexpected wave of tears that feel as of they are coming from a bottomless well. Claire knows that she can not give in to this sudden, violent surge of emotion, knows that she has to fight her desire to scream and cry, to hit the man before her even as she simontansuly wants him to hold her and yet not to touch her. She is aware that she has to restrain herself, for she can feel those words that she has never told anyone forcing their way up her throat, and Claire knows that she needs to say them. She needs to let them out, right here, right now to her old partner and friend whom she had spent so long trying not to think about, whom she had hated and whom she had thought dead. Claire has to tell the father of her child, the man who had spent four years thinking that she had not wanted their son, whose multihued voice had remained wrapped around her soul from their first training session, and in whose eyes she can see a kaleidoscope of emotions trying to dominate his anger.

If Claire does not speak, if she forces the words down back into their frozen prison… then she knows that she will never utter them, not if she lives 1,0000 years.

Claire finally is able to get the words out, her voice strained with remembered anger, fear, grief, and hurt.

"He waited until I was in labor, shape-shifted, posed as a paramedic, drugged me, and then took him! I begged Peter to give me back my child, to tell me who he had given the baby to, but he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't even tell me if I had a boy or a girl, and then two months later I got a picture of a baby with a broken neck! The baby looked like us. I thought something had happened, that the parents had found out that our baby had powers and killed them."

The whole time she was speaking Gabriel had not removed his arm from her throat, and he does not do so now. Instead he is staring at her, denial overtaking the anger and warring with realization and horror in his eyes.

"You're lying. Peter would never have done something like that." he says, his voice only half way convinced, and Claire knows he reviewing every one of Peter's past actions, every lie he told and every innocent person he killed.

"When have I _ever_ lied to you?"__she spits out vehemtantly.

Claire sees the truth hit home for him at her words, sees by the widening of his eyes and the slight parting of his mouth that now he sees the truth behind her words.

When the extent of Peter's betrayal and deception fully registers Gabriel yanks his arm from her neck and strides furiously to the front window, gripping the sill so hard his knuckles turn white. He continues to maintain his death grip on the window sill for a few seconds before almost absentmindedly flicking one finger. As he does so Claire, who was still hanging on the wall despite the absence of his arm (confirming her hypothesis that Gabriel has been employing his telekinesis to hold her up) falls to the floor, only just barely catching herself before she does a face plant into the tile.

Claire quickly picks herself up, never taking her eyes off the form of Gabriel, who now has his head bowed against the window. For one of the few times that she can remember Gabriel is facing away from her, relativity undefecencless, unsuspecting, and appearing almost…. broken as he grasps the window and leans his forehead against the frame. Now would be a perfect time to kill him, to throw one of the butcher knives into the back of his head or straight through his spinal cord.

The only problem is that Claire doesn't want to, and it's not because Gabriel is the only human being on the planet besides herself who will never die. The reason is because, after all this time and everything he has put her through, every nightmare she has suffered and every day she had lived with her numbness, Claire still never wants to see him hurt.

"I believe you. I'm… I'm sorry."

The quiet admission is loud in the silence, heavy with pain, regret, fatigue, lingering anger, and so many things left unsaid.

"Thank you." Claire replies, surprised that Gabriel would believe her so quickly, especially when she had been seriously contradicting what he thought had been the truth for four years.

Claire sees Gabriel unclench his hands from the window and straighten his spine, and somehow she knows that he is preparing to leave. The inexpiable knowdgle that he is going to walk out of her life once again, quite possibly for good this time comes to her in a flash of insight. What also comes to her is the bone deep knowdgle that she dose not want that.

Claire dose not want that to happen, not because in the short time that he has been here it feels as if a tiny ache inside her has mended, or because she can truly hear his footsteps and see him standing in her kitchen. She dose not want that because she owes him. She had killed his child and brother, shattered the one belief that had probley given him comfort these past few years, and Claire knows that if she lets him walk out that door they will become strangers to each other. If they became strangers, then Gabriel will in all likely hood die alone, and she knows how much he fears that. Claire can't allow that fear to become a reality, not if she can prevent it.

"Look, do you want to stay here tonight?" she offers, her tone surprisingly calm given that she had just been held hostage against a wall and spilled out her secret to a man who was partially strangling her only a few minutes previously.

"Why would I want to do that?" Gabriel inquires, looking at her reflection in the window rather then at her directly.

Claire shrugs and tucks her hair behind her ear noncohnerntaly**. **"Well, for one thing it's going to be pouring out until morning, and for another they're still doing a mass sweep for illegal's. This house is probley the safest place you can stay right now."

Gabriel doesn't respond imeadtly, opting instead to stare fixedly out the window, as he had always done while in deep thought (well, it's either that or he's attempting to count the rain drops that are making a valiant effort to break through the glass).

"Are you sure?" he quietly asks, just as Claire was thinking that he would refuse her offer after all.

"Yes, I am. The last thing either of needs is for you to get caught so close to this house." Claire says matter of factly.

Claire knows that Gabriel sees the logic in her words when he closes his eyes and breathes deeply before squaring his shoulders, the gesture one that she had seen countless times. Only now the action is performed slowly, as if it is taking a great deal of concertaion and effort to complete that one, small movement.

"Alright, but don't expect me to stay beyond tomorrow morning." He says, his low voice containing a faint edge of conviction, as though he's trying to convince himself as much as her.

Claire simply nods, having expected that answer.

"There's extra blankets and pillows in the hall closet." She says before walking toward her bedroom.

That night, as Claire listens to the smooth, even glide of Gabriel's footsteps upon her floor, as she catches the sent of his skin on her washcloth she is not comforted. When, in the middle of the night she goes into the living room it is only to make sure that she has shut off the lamp, not to see for herself that Gabriel has not left, that his long form is sprawled out across her couch, one arm flung across his eyes. Claire does not have the soundest sleep that she has had in a long time because she knows that Gabriel is in the other room, only ten feet away. When she goes for her morning run before the sun rises and extends her workout by a half hour it is only because she wants to up her endurance, not because she is afraid that when she returns her house will be empty. As she makes her way back to her house, the sky behind her streaked with pink and purple, she does not experience relief when she sees Gabriel sitting on the front porch, a mug of hot White Peach tea in his hand.

**PART TWO**

Two weeks latter Claire comes back from her morning run (actually it was more like a swim, seeing as she tripped and fell into a pond halfway up the trail) to find a sleek black motorcycle in her driveway, the smell of coffee and tea reaching across the yard to tease her nose, and Gabriel laying in the swing on the far end of her porch.

Despite not moving or otherwise aknowdgling her presence, Claire knows that Gabriel is aware that she is there. The greenery covering the ground may muffle her footsteps, but that super hearing of his makes it possible for him to hear leaf land in the water. No doubt he had heard her fall into that pond, not to mention the round of swear words and the ten minutes she had spent condemning the trees, the recent rain storm, the mud, even the rock she had tripped over (and _yes_ there really had been a rock) all straight to hell.

When Claire catches sight of him she stifles the sudden butterflies in her stomach that are attempting to perform a marathon of loop da loops, and concentrates on the equally strong urge to break the nose of the one who is treating her house as if it is his own personal vacation spot.

As she walks up the steps Gabriel lies still, not granting Claire the courtesy of looking at her until she has spent three minutes standing over him, her arms folded under her breasts as she glares at him. When he finally does open his eyes he looks at her for a moment, taking in her soaked and mud splattered hair, her skin that is covered in grass and moss, and the apparently see through bra and top that is giving him quite a view of her nipples, with all of the interest that he would grant a passing duck.

"I'm going to assume because the trees aren't going up in flames along with "their freakishly fertile chlorophyll filled desendts, while the water becomes a toxic hot spring", it's safe to conclude that you haven't gained the power to manipulate the environment yet." He remarks dryly.

Claire puts her hands on her hips, griping the fabric of her pants as she feels the urge to cause him bodily harm intensify. His mouth would look extremely fetching with a few teeth knocked out, not to mention a bloodied lip.

"What gives you the _right_ to think that you can just show up on my property? You may be the only person who knows where I am, but that _doesn't mean_ you can come over unannounced, impose on my personal belongings, and eavesdrop on me." Claire says, her tone dripping icicles.

Gabriel rolls his eyes heavenward, apparently having found great fault with her comments.

"I _tried_ to call, but you didn't answer. I figured you were either out running or had given in and blasted a hole through your phone."

_Well… ok he has a point there._

"I'm on your porch because I knew you would have appreciated finding me in your living room even less."

_Fine. Score one there, genius. _

"As for "eavesdropping"? Really, Claire? With this hearing it was impossible _not_ to hear you."

_That's besides the point. You should have concentrated on moles tunneling in the ground or those dragonflies that were buzzing around my head._

Claire glances over at the two Caribou Coffee cups sitting in the cardboard drink holder on the railing.

"And you came all the way here to…?"

"Talk. Propose a compromise."

Claire blinks in surprise. That was an unexpected response. She had never known Gabriel to _talk_ to someone whom had wronged him. At best he would scare them shitless, and at worst he'd kill them. There was never a middle ground with Gabriel, no negoation or compromise was possible. You were either having horrible nightmares and sleeping with a gun under your pillow, or you wound up in a body bag.

"So you figured reaching an agreement was a better option as opposed to _what_? Forcing me to look over my shoulder for the next 100 years, just waiting for you to decide to start poking around in my brain?" Claire asks, allowing a sneer to enter her voice.

"Yes. The prospect of forcing you to suffer physcogcially held very little perks for me." Gabriel remarks seriously.

"Should I really expect that one day you won't deliver me to Arthur so he can either drain me or stuff me into a coffin like Adam Monore?" Claire says skeptically, closing her eyes as she wipes off some mud that's running down her forehead.

Because her eyes are closed Claire misses when, at the mention of Arthur Petrelli Gabriel's eyes flick up to her face sharply, anger and alarm rising swiftly and inexpcidtily. When he sees that Claire's attention is diverted, her voice and those strange new eyes free of any knowdgle the emotions are wiped from his gaze, disappearing as smoothly as if they had never appeared.

Opening her eyes Claire sees Gabriel sit up and rise effortlessly to his feet, stretching his strong, sleeveless arms over his head before moving over to the railing, gripping it from behind as he leans casually against it.

"Arthur Petteril was murdered two months ago, Claire. The Haitian was able to successfully block his powers and shoot him in the head. Even if I _had_ wanted to deliver you, it would have been pointless to attempt to do so."

Claire takes the news of her grandfather's death in stride, for she had never even seen the man, let alone had a chance to develop feelings for him.

"Arthur's death aside, why did you decide that you want to talk with me, Gabriel? It will take you a lot longer to get the answers you want, and in all of the years I've known you not _once_ have you wanted to make peace with someone that's wronged you."

Gabriel looks downward for a moment before replaying, as if considering his response. When he speaks there is honest sincerity in his voice, and Claire can tell that he is truly willing to do this with her.

"You were my partner and friend for six years, you saved my life more times then I can remember,_ and_ you're Noah's mother. I figured I owe you."

It is then that Claire realizes that Gabriel is making this gesture because he wants her in his life once again, as casual friends if nothing more. It is only due to the fact that Claire wants that as well that she agrees to this compromise that he is proposing.

After all, even if it just lasts two weeks before they call it quits, it is still a step in the right direction.

**TBC**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: Nope.**

**Section Two: Chapter Five**

**PART ONE**

It happens gradually. For the first few weeks Claire will come back from a run or wake up in the morning, and there Gabriel will be on her porch or in her kitchen waiting for her. He doesn't stay for very long, usually just about 15 to 20 minutes at a stretch. They don't really talk much about anything important, not at first anyway. When they do speak it's sporadic pieces of information that for the most part are neutral topics. Claire learns that Gabriel is living in Seattle and working at an antique store, and when he inquires about the color of her hair Claire tells him that she was tired of being a blonde. Gabriel informs her that he hasn't truly required glasses since he inavertadly acquired her power after Claire mentioned that she never sees him wearing them anymore, and Claire tells him that she is sick of the sound of rain.

As the weeks turn into months Gabriel's arrivals become more frequent. In addition to showing up in the mornings or evenings, he also begins to come over at irregular time intervals. One day he will come over around noon, then the next day it's 2:30 in the afternoon, and then 5:00 in the morning. Now, four months into this compromise thing they've got going on Gabriel is remaining longer, up to an hour most days. They also graduate to more serious topics, Noah for one. It's really Gabriel who brings Noah up, at least to begin with.

"He liked stuffed hippos." Gabriel says out of the blue one evening, his voice sounding chocked as he gets down onto the floor to help her pick up the dark blue pieces of a shattered glass.

Claire looks at him blankly, not having figured out what stuffed animals have to do with…. well anything.

"Noah, our son. He liked stuffed hippos." Gabriel supplies slowly, as if she is a bit slow on the mental front.

"Oh." Claire says, fiddling determinedly with the smooth shards of razor sharp cobalt in her hands. Claire tries to tell herself that she doesn't care, that it doesn't matter weather Noah liked hippos or dogs, if he liked to have books read to him, or if his favorite game was hide and seek. But then an image of Noah sitting on the floor in those Spiderman pajamas, smiling and laughing as he makes a large gray hippo crawl across the carpet appears in her minds eye. At the image that ache that she thought had disappeared over a year ago, that ache that felt as if her heart was cracking down the middle rises up once again.

"W-what else? I… I mean… what other things did he like?" Claire asks haltingly after a few silent seconds, her voice soft in an attempt to conceal the tears that are blocking her airway.

And so the topic of Noah continues to work it's way into their daily conversations. Sometimes it is random bits of information offered up by Gabriel, such as Noah's first word was "bird", unlike most small children he had never been afraid of the dark, and that he loved to play with trains. Other times Claire will hesitantly request specific items of information, such as why did Gabriel give him the name of a man whom he had hated, what had their son's personality been like, and which animal had he liked best. Through this method Claire learns that Noah's favorite animal had been green lizards, he had been a bright, straightforward, kind, inquisitive, brave, and patient child with a relatively rare but an all-around bad temper, and that Gabriel gave him the name he did because "I wanted him to have a piece of his mother."

One day Gabriel brings a photo album with him, the large book containing hundreds of photos having been stored in another location prior to Gabriel's explosion. Claire tries not to, but she can't prevent herself from eargly grabbing the book, her eyes devouring the pitchers. Claire stares at the images of Noah that his father had captured. Images of a small toddler holding onto a coffee table or chair leg as he learns to walk, an expression a great conceration upon his face. A two year old Noah sitting in the bathtub, rubber ducks and toy boats floating around him as he smiles a gap toothed grin at the camera, a pile of bubbles adorning his head. Noah running after a large green ball in the backyard and laying inside of a fort made out of blankets and couch cushions. Noah on his birthdays, Christmas, and Easter, staring in wide eyed amazement at his birthday cake or the tree covered in silver tinsel, plastic thread covered bulbs, and twinkling lights. Noah on his first day of school, smiling nervously at the camera as he holds onto the straps of his blue backpack.

Then there are the images of both Gabriel and Noah, taken presumably by Peter or some willing passerby. Gabriel holding an eight month old Noah on his shoulders, his face turned to smile at his son, who apparently thinks it's great fun to hit the top of his father's head. Father and son sleeping on a black faukes leather couch, Gabriel's glasses askew as he lays on his side, one arm underneath his head and the other holding his four year old son against his chest, who in turn is clutching a fuzzy brown bear. They are at a park, sitting in the mouth of a rainbow slide and eating ice cream cones, Noah with smears of vanilla across his face as he takes Gabriel's strawberry cone out of his hand, persumdly to trade. They are at a public swimming pool, Noah standing on the edge of the pool wearing yellow floaties on his arms as he looks down nervously at his father, who is standing in water up to his waist, arms held out as he smiles encourgely at his son.

Often Claire will look at the images at night, sitting on her urine stained couch with the lamp beside her shining brightly. That way, on the days that Gabriel looks at the images with her, he either won't see her cry at all or he will witness just a few tears, as opposed to the full body sobs that will come upon her as she looks at the images of her child that she never knew.

**PART TWO**

Their first truly meaningful dissucion occurs two weeks after she receives the photo album.

Claire is sitting on a large amethyst blanket that's spread out on the grass, paging through the album as she waits for Gabriel to arrive. As she does so an image catches her eye, one of Noah and Gabriel laying in the grass, playing with a tiny Pomeranian puppy. The caption underneath, written in Gabriel's neat cursive reads: Noah, Gabriel, and Mr. Muggles.

She frowns down at the photograph, puzzled. It's not that they had owned a dog that she finds odd, it's that the name and the breed of the animal is exactly the same as the award winning show dog that had once belonged to her mom.

Hearing footsteps Claire looks up, surprised to see Gabriel walking toward her, not having heard his motorcycle.

"Gabriel, why did you have a dog called Mr. Muggles?"

By the way that Gabriel halts in his progression, his eyes flashing downward as he swallows heavily Claire knows that she has brought up a subject that is more painful then most of what they have discussed. After a few moments Gabriel resumes making his way over, sitting down on the far corner of the blanket. He crosses his legs beneath him and stares at his hands, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the opposite knuckle, clearly contemplating his words before he utters them. The minutes stretch on, the silence weighing heavily between them in a way that it had never had before, like a clear two ton brick was separating them. When the ten minute mark passes Claire shifts her weight from one side to the other, feeling guiltily and stupid for bringing up a subject that was clearly too painful for Gabriel to discuss.

"Noah was able to get vague impressions of things, things from the past and the future." Gabriel says almost as Claire is about to bring up another topic, his voice low and strained.

Claire leans forward, forgetting all about her pervious discomfort in the wake of this revelation regarding Noah.

Gabriel breathes through his nose sharply, blinking rapidly before continuing. "His power wasn't like your grandmother's or my Clairsentience. He didn't dream the future or require an object to touch, the impressions just sort of came to him… as if a ghost would whisper them in his ear."

Gabriel laughs shakily, the brief sound loaded with pain. "We got that dog because one day Noah came up to me, as serious as could be, and said…. "Daddy, we need to get a Mr. Muggles. Our house used to have a fluffy, yappy one, but now it doesn't and we need to fix it." '

Claire feels dread rising in her as the implications make themselves known. If Noah had somehow known _that_, what else had he predicted?

Gabriel's face is turned away from her, still staring at his hands, but even so Claire knows that he is crying. She can tell by the slight tremor in his shoulders and the way that his voice breaks as he speaks of his son. Claire knows because of the tears she can see falling onto his hands and wrists, and by the short and ragged breaths she can hear forcing their way out of his chest.

"I should have known that something was going to happen. A week before he…. you… I had him tucked into bed when he came into my room two hours latter carrying Mr. Muggles. He told me that he and Mr. Muggles couldn't sleep because "the lady who can make herself better like you is going to come with two scary people."He says, his voice filling with anger and self blame.

"I thought he was just having a bad dream, because what were the odds of _you_ coming there? I should've paid more attention, put more faith in his power, but by the morning of… i'd forgotten… and then it was too late." Gabriel says, bitterness and anger leaking through the grief.

Claire feels her heart plummet into her stomach as her vision turns blurry with unshed tears. Noah had told him, and Gabriel hadn't…. _oh God!_

For the first time since he sat down Gabriel looks at her, and Claire sees his eyes, so lost and filled with so much pain that Claire doesn't know how he is managing to prevent himself from exploding again.

"So, do you see now, Claire? Noah's death is _my_ fault." He says earnestly.

"No." Claire whispers, knowing that Gabriel has not heard her.

"He told me you were coming and I _ignored_ him. I told him that there was nothing to be scared of, because I was always going to be there to protect him."

As he was speaking, Gabriel's voice had taken on a new emotion, one that Claire recognized, even if she didn't have a name for it. It was the same emotion that made her wonder how it would feel to sink to the bottom of a pool, and stand listlessly in the rain, that made her dye her hair dark and run away from everything she had ever known. It was an emotion that Claire hated, but couldn't seem to get rid of. An emotion that she could feel destroying her as utterly as fire destroys everything in it's path, one that _hurts and bleeds_ even though it should have healed a long time ago.

Claire reaches forward and grips Gabriel's forearm, her hand steady as she does so, for the first time in two years the fear and revulsion she normally feels toward touch is absent. Claire doesn't notice this remarkable occurrence, she only knows that Gabriel cannot have that emotion within him, because if he does it will consume him more completely then his Hunger ever could. It will abolish her former friend, just as she herself has been abolished. His emotions will become encased in ice, the frozen wasteland that was once the most beautiful soul she had ever seen will grow more and more numb, until he truly is the heartless, cold blooded serial killer so many assume he is.

"Gabriel, his death wasn't your fault. You made a mistake, that's all. That's the _only_ thing you did wrong." Claire says firmly, ignoring the confused expression Gabriel sends her. Obviously he had been expecting her to agree with him, to place the blame on his shoulders just as he himself had been doing for eight months. Well, Claire wasn't about to let that happen.

"You _did_ protect Noah. You kept him safe his entire life, from your Hunger and Pinehurst.If anyone is to blame it's me. You said it yourself; I'm the one who threatened him and wouldn't have thought twice about killing him." Claire remarks, hearing the self disgust she can feel inside her spilling into her voice.

As she recalls that day, the voices and the faces coming to her in perfect clarity, she can't prevent the tears from falling from her eyes. The tears fall, and more replace them, and more replace those until the floodgates open and she is crying as she has only ever cried alone.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel. I swear I had no idea who Noah was when we went after Peter. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Go on. Hit me, strangle me, leave me, hurt me, do whatever you need to."

Out of the corner of her eye Claire sees Gabriel reaching for her and she automatically flinches away, the memory of an unseen hand holding her arm in place as her fingers are chopped off flashing through her mind. At her reaction Gabriel imeadtly pulls his hand back, his face tightening as he sees the fear in her eyes that Claire knows he thinks _he_ had put there.

_As Gabriel hears the self disgust in the voice of the woman beside him, he wants to eradicate it from her, from the one person involved in Noah's death who had absolutely no reason to experience it. _

_When Gabriel witnesses the evidence of pain, remorse and grief that matches his own upon the face the Pinehurst agent that he once knew inside and out, he wants to destroy Peter for aiding in it's presence... and yet at the same time he doesn't know weather he would be able to bring himself to take the life of his brother. He wishes Nathan Petteril was still alive, if only so he could elimate him for forcing Claire into a society where she had no choice but to shut down her emotions and morals when it came taking the lives of others. _

_As both Sylar and Gabriel see the intense, fearful reaction to their touch from the only person whom they had sworn would never have a single reason to fear it, they experience shame and anger. They feel shame for the rape, for not being able to stop even when her eyes were begging them to, when they could see Claire withering under their touch, hear her moans and cries of pleasure, feel her hot wetness gripping them, and all they could think was, __**Please, god. Not like this.**__ They feel anger at themselves for taking physical pleasure in the act of their violation, for not being strong enough to prevent themselves from cutting her stomach and breasts, and rage at Eric Doyle for forcing them. _

_They wish that Claire was not afraid, because it cuts them when she jerks away, her eyes widening in fear, as if she is afraid that she will be struck with a savage blow to the face.____Sylar wants Claire to lean into his touch, to welcome his arm around her waist or his hand stroking her hair.____Gabriel wants Claire to touch him as she had before; her hand willingly holding onto his own or how she used to lay her head in his lap, complete and utter trust in every line of her body and a glowing light in her eyes._

_But as of right now, neither is possible. They know that it will take time, but they are willing to wait however long they need to for Claire to touch them like that again, until she does not fear their touch and they witness that look in her eyes and the trust in her body once more_.

Unaware of Gabriel's thoughts Claire watches as his face flickers through an array of emotions, all of them passing from his features far to quickly for her to identify them. When Gabriel opens his mouth Claire expects him to comply, for his words to hurt her more then anything Nathan could ever have said, because this time Claire will know them to be true.To her surprise the tone that issues from his mouth is not harsh and damaging, but gentle and soothing.

"No, Claire. I can't hurt you because I don't blame you, not anymore. I know what Peter did to you the night Noah was born, how he manupitled you all those years into thinking your son was dead." Gabriel says as he lays his hands flat against the blanket, his pale skin standing out against the dark purple fabric.

_He doesn't blame me? But I – _

Claire's inner monaugle is cut short as Gabriel frowns severely, as if he can guess the nature of her thoughts and doesn't approve in the least.

"When we talk about Noah, when we look at those pitchers… I see the pain and guilt in your eyes. You smile or become sad and I can see how much you love him, even if you didn't know him." Gabriel counties, not noticing that the tears have migrated to his voice, causing his words to come out strangled.Gabriel's attention is focusedinternally on the one across from him, his old partner with chocolate brown hair tucked behind her ears and who is biting her lip harshly as she stares at him, her Siamese blue eyes glimmering brightly.

"I forgive you for your role in Noah's death, because it wasn't you fault, Claire. You were betrayed, hurt, and lied to by someone that should never have done so, and I'm more sorry then I can ever say that I played a role in your suffering, however unknowingly."

At Gabriel's words Claire feels those knots inside of her loosen, just as they had once done with Elle. This time however, there is not merely a slight unraveling of the knots along the surface. It is as if dozens of knots scattered throughout the middle, bottom, and top are loosened strand by strand. As those knots unravel Claire gasps as she feels ten different levels of confusion, relief, anger, pain, grief, and anxiety ascend like thick black smoke, filling the space inside her that had not truly _felt_ in so long to it's capacity. Despite that empty space now being full up to the brim her emotions continue to flow into it until Claire can feel them overflowing, like water running over the edge of a pool. Logically the overflow, and thus the lessened content of that space should ease the burden, but like an underground stream that feeds a pond the emotions keep coming, until the only thing Claire can do is allow them to escape.

Claire does this not byscreamingor beating Gabriel to a bloody, ever living pulp, but by a much more… uncharastic method. As the silence between them echoes with the sincerity of Gabriel's words Claire begins to laugh. At first the sound is little more then a quiet chuckle, barley distinguishable over the sharp caws of a flock of crows nearby. As Claire continues to let the sound escape the volume increases until what is issuing from her throat is almost a hysterical scream. Claire keeps laughing even as she falls over onto the blanket, clutching her stomach and tears falling down her face, her body unable to support itself against the constant tremors racking it. Dimly Claire knows that she must be putting on quite a show (if she were anyone else she would have put herself in a straight jacket by now), but the uncontroable laughter spewing forth, and thus the release of those unexpected emotions feels so unbelievingly _good_ that she doesn't want to stop. As Claire lays on the violet blanket, hearing her breath come out in soundless gasps and feeling her hair covering her face, and knowing all the while that Gabriel is watching her,she feels good in a way that she hasn't in almost five years.

Eventually Claire feels those emotions slowly winding down, her insane laughter tapering off.As suddenly as that laughter came upon her, so does the exaushation that Claire can feel steadily flowing over her.Through half closed lids Claire looks up from her position on the blanket, and sure enough Gabriel is watching her, his form bathed in shadows thanks to the setting sun.

Claire awakens late the next morning, but not outside as she had expected to. Claire can see the sun shining weakly through the curtains covering the window, there are firm and comfortable couch cushions underneath her instead of the hard earth, and the purple blanket is tucked securely about her.

And so ended Claire and Gabriel's first serious discussion. One that was marked by painful revelations, comfort, concern, remorse, and forgiveness. One that had contained breakdowns and the unraveling of long buried emotions, tears and broken laughter, a sorrowful and intense brown gaze meeting broken Siamese blue, and thoughts and desires that remained unvoiced. Despite those unspoken wishes, regrets, and the many issues they still needed to shed light on, one simple question about a dog had unlocked a rusty wrought iron gate that stood between them. Now it was just a matter of clearing the vines twining around the bars, removing the leaves shielding the gaps from view, polishing the iron to a shining gleam, and finally stepping through the door.

**TBC**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**Section Two: Chapter Six**

**PART ONE**

On her 28th birthday Claire wakes up to find a brand new Aston Martin V12 Vanquish in her (until now) empty garage, and Gabriel sitting in her armchair. This is the first birthday Claire has celebrated in two years, and it should be a fun, worry free day. Instead due to an unforeseen announcement made by not only the new President of the United States, but every foreign leader across the world a few hours after Claire awakens it becomes a day that is fraught with tension. They spend the day either inside or on the front porch, alternating between the couch, kitchen table, and the swing. Claire cooks turkey burgers for dinner and she and Gabriel spend the day and a good portion of the night playing King's Corner, chess, and hangman. Throughout the day, apart from the scratch of a pencil against paper, a few briefly exchanged sentences, and the soft click of game pieces the only sound has been the low mummer of the nationwide broadcast, alerting the world that within four hours there will be a mass sweep conducted. That in itself is nothing new, but what causes Claire to nervously twirl her gun between her fingers and forces Gabriel to accidently melt the silverware is that this time the sweep is focusing on the small percentage of the population that is a former staff member of any and all Pinehurst organizations.

Midnight finds Gabriel paging through a book while Claire is laying on her back on the living room floor, her hands folded over her white halter top clad stomach. After a few minutes of looking at a large water mark on the ceiling she looks over at Gabriel, uncrossing her jean covered legs as she does so.A passerby would most likely assume that the current suation is of no concern to the tall dark haired man, with his jean clad legs resting on the table and his black sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, one might get the impression that he is more concerned with the novel in front of him. Claire is not a random passerby however, and she knows by the unfocused expression in his eyes that Gabriel is listening for the smallest vibration that is out of place in the surrounding woods, every one of his defensive powers from Telekinesis to Pyrokinesis ready and waiting to be employed if need be. For her part Claire has her gun holstered on her hip, her knife strapped to her thigh, and if an attack _does_ occur she can do little more then employ her training and hope that she doesn't get shot in the back of the head. Sometimes possessing an offensive power really sucks.

Morning eventually arrives, bringing with it mating calls of frogs, the fading lights of the stars, and brilliant clouds of pink, peach, and purple. Across the world there are mass crowds convergering in the streets, people are hanging from their windows, and brightly colored lights appear in the sky. These crowds are not protesting against the treatment of their fellow man, they are celebrating that so many "animals" have been removed from society. Those that are hanging from the windows do not do so to yell and shake their fists in rage, but to cheer and throw flowers into the streets. The lights that appear in the sky do not inspire fear, for they are not caused by bombs or flames, but fireworks and flares.

Inside a tiny four room house deep in the forest of Washgtion Claire and Gabriel are not among those who are celebrating. As they hear the death toll, see the fireworks lighting up the sky and witness the people giving thanks in the streets Gabriel turns away from the screen, heading over to the alcohol cupboard above the stove.Claire, lacking a TV remote, walks over and turns off the revolting image on the screen. She straightens up to find Gabriel standing beside her, holding a shot of vodka in each hand. Claire takes one of the glasses without comment and they both stare out the window, silently watching the forest come alive around them.

It is the morning after Claire's 28th birthday, and as she and Gabriel sip the alcohol they are celebrating. They are celebrating that somehow they managed to avoid capture and that they feel only the lightness of their shirts around their necks, as opposed to the heavy weight of metal collars. They celebrate that they still retain their freedom and dignity, that they hear the calls of birds and are able to feel the wind lightly hitting their faces through the open window. Claire and Gabriel each give thanks, for the person that matters the most is still standing next to them. As they drink the fiery liquid, look out the window at the emerald and jade forest, and take comfort in the one next to them, they are also honoring the 7,082 agents who no longer walk the streets and live with their families in promised safety, all because they must reside in a world where they are conseridered less then human.

**PART THREE**

Claire's reaction to touch and her time spent in the camps is not a topic that she and Gabriel discus until almost a whole year has passed. It is not that Claire actively seeks to avoid bringing them up, nor does she attempt to hide her reactions or her nightmares, and neither does she miss the growing concern in Gabriel's eyes, it just… doesn't come up.

Claire finally tells Gabriel what has happened to her one night after he comes over to her house to find her having a violent nightmare, and upon waking and feeling hands on her she had almost literately flung herself across the room.

It is on the floor of her bedroom, Gabriel sitting wordily beside her, that Claire tells him. With her knees pulled protectively up to her chest, her hair hiding her face, and in between gasping sobs Claire revels what had been done to her.

Gabriel listens quietly as Claire tells him of her burned and blackened feet, of the whips that cut her down to the marrow of her bones, and how each tooth of the saw felt like thousands of knifes. She whispers of the iron shackles and laying in a pool of her own blood, of the beatings that left her nearly unconscious, and the elecaitary that would course through her body. Last, but not least Claire tells Gabriel of the hands; the firm hands would hold her down as her legs were spread, the rough and calloused ones that would shatter her bones, and the cool and slender hands that would offer a touch that was gentle and kind… that is until they tightened around her throat, scored bleeding wounds down her arm, or slapped her with enough force to send her flying off her knees.

When she is finished Gabriel's face is dark with rage, blue-white sparks of elecaitry crackle at the ends of his fingertips, and more then once Claire witnesses his shoulders relax as Sylar makes an appearance.

Despite the extent of his anger neither Gabriel nor Sylar attempt to find the ones who had done this to her, most likely because they know that should they do so there is a good chance that the government will be able to trace his wareabouts back to her. Instead they remain by Claire's side, allowing her to cry and comforting her through their presence beside her.

Now that Claire has spoken of the dehumanizing pain and torture she suffered within the past four years her behaviors become clear. It makes sense why she jerks her hand away as if she's been burned when the back of Gabriel's finger brushes hers when he hands her a glass, or why she doesn't like bracelets around her wrists anymore or sleeves that are too tight. Gabriel now understands that Claire shrinks away from his touch not because she is afraid of him or thinks that he will harm her, but because she has developed a reflexive aversion toward _any_ touch.

After learning this Gabriel no longer takes her reaction to his touch personally, and although his face will darken in anger at the ones who have done this to her whenever she flinches away from him he never once tries to force his touch on her. He will watch her carefully for any sign of tension in order to make sure that he is not getting to close too her, and when he comes over in the middle of the night and sees that she is having a nightmare he will wake her up with words instead of his hands.

It takes time, but eventually Claire becomes less likely to flinch at or be afraid of Gabriel's touch. Claire is glad, for not only has she craved human contact (more specially Gabriel's), and missed seeing that light in her friend's eyes, but it also means that things are slowly turning back to normal.

**PART THREE**

Their rape and Gabriel's leaving are not discussed according to some unspoken plan or brought up as they sit on the couch for an in depth two hour conversation twice a week.

Much like with Noah these heavy weighted issues are discussed gradually over a period of time, working their way into Claire and Gabriel's conversations and activities over the course of several months at seemingly random intervals.

They will be going for a run together when Gabriel suddenly tells Claire that he had left because Claire's grandfather had threatened to drain her of her power and kill her (in other words Gabriel had been trying to protect her), and it isn't until they have come to the end of the trail an hour latter that Claire revels to him exactly how much pain he had caused her, and how much she had hated him for it.

As Claire and Gabriel stand side by side at the kitchen sink washing dishes Claire tells Gabriel that she had thought he had left because there had been something wrong with her, and that she would see, hear, and smell him everywhere, no matter where she was living at the time.

Gabriel is hooking up a TV for her when he tells her that he had wanted to come back so much, but fear for her had prevented him from doing so. He also says that he would see, smell, and hear her everywhere as well.

When Gabriel and Claire repair her house somehow they get on the subject of the rape, and over the two months that it takes to repaint the outside, recarpet the floors, and reshingle the roof they both talk.

It is outside and breathing in the smell of paint fumes that Claire revels how helpless and terrified she had felt, that it had hurt so badly even as it felt good, and how she had been begging Gabriel to make it stop.

In turn, with yellow paint streaking his hair, Gabriel tells her that for the longest time he had blamed himself for what had happened, because he was supposed to be strong and powerful, and yet he couldn't do a single thing to make Doyle stop. He tells Claire of the shame and fear he had felt as he had raped her, how he had tried so hard to make a single movement of his own, and yet he _couldn't_.

They are tearing up the faded green carpet in the living room when Claire revels to him that for years she had been numb, her emotions completely incased in a thick tomb of ice. She tells Gabriel the content of her nightmares and that how even though she knew that neither of them were to blame she had blamed herself, Gabriel, and Doyle in equal measures.

As they take measurements and cut out what they will need of the new gray carpet Gabriel tells her that his Hunger had been ordering him to kill Doyle after he (Doyle) had been taken out by the rescue team, and that part of his guilt came from feeling like he had been raped as well, even though he knew that Doyle had been forcing _him_ to rape _her_.

The old shingles are torn off the roof and new ones are put into place as they both tell each other of all of the emotions that Doyle had caused them to experience: all of the fear and anger, the utter helplessness and shame, and the feeling of violation that they both experienced.

So that is how Claire and Gabriel discuss two of the most important events, greatest emotional disasters, and a magnitude of hurt that laid between them. Perhaps it is not discussed in any manner that a physiatrist would have approved of, but it worked for them. They talked about and faced the terrible experiences, both the unintended and damaging emotions, the reason behind actions that had harmed one another, and the aftermath of those brutal occurrences.

Claire and Gabriel had gotten though it together, and in the end they were made all the stronger for it.

**PART FOUR**

The night before Gabriel's 38th birthday Claire drives to his apartment in Seattle, arriving at the nice, homey, average sized dwelling early in the morning. Gabriel is surprised to see her, but nevertheless lets her in with a smile, accepting the rare first edition of _Moby Dick_, three tins of Black Currant tea, and a CD of Johnny Cash songs with enthusim. Unlike the last birthday they celebrated they do not spend it sitting indoors playing game after game of King's Corner, and waiting on pins and needles for their would be captors to appear outside of the house.

Instead Claire and Gabriel visit the Seattle Central Library, getting lost as they attempt to navigate their way around the 11 winding levels, taking the brightly illuminated escalators with great relief, look at the millions of novels with great interest, and linger in the chairs in the Living Room as they swap books back and forth.

They travel to Pike Place Market, spending four hours watching fish fry on outdoor grills, shopping for bright red tomatoes and deep purple plums, smelling the heavy fragence of dozens upon dozens of flowers perfuming the air, and take pitchers of a gigantic gold plated pig and a wall covered in gum.For dinner they head over to The Pink Door, selecting tables on the deck overlooking Elliott Bay and listen to the cries of seagulls as Claire eats Chestnut Gnocchetti and Fall Harvest Salad, while Gabriel has Roasted Pumpkin And Pear Soup.

The day finally comes to a close around 10:30, with Gabriel walking Claire to her car which, to her amazement, is still safely parked outside his apartment complex. Claire drives home, the radio turned on low as she takes the winding, desolate roads back to her remote forest home. As she listens to the low memmer of a talk show host she thinks that today, spending the day with Gabriel and simply wandering around a library and an old marketplace was the most fun she's had in a while.

**TBC**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Section Two: Chapter Seven**

**PART ONE**

Claire is sitting in the passenger seat of Gabriel's SUV, allowing him to drive her home from the movie they had seen that night. They have nearly reached the road leading to her house when Gabriel's face turns white. Without bothering to slow down or even stop he performs a ferice U turn, speeding back the way they had come as if the devil himself is chasing them.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Claire asks in alarm.

Gabriel looks quickly into the review mirror before glancing grimily at her. "There's agents inside of your house, Claire."

Claire feels chills run up her spine. If Gabriel hadn't heard them, if they had arrived at her house just a littler eliaer…

"We're not going back to your place are we?" she asks nervously.

Gabriel shakes his head, not bothering to take his eyes off the road as he answers her. "No. If they've found you chances are good my apartment's been found as well."

Claire takes a deep breath, pushing aside her lingering fear and trying to force herself to get her whirling thoughts into something resembling a logical order.

She needs to make a plan, she has to tell Gabriel that they have to run, and that they will have to split up because that will make it harder for the government to locate them.

She opens her mouth to tell Gabriel this, hoping her voice is strong and self-assured so that he will not have cause to worry, but then the memory of those hands and the knife against her flesh come back to her, and instead what comes out of her mouth is the small, scared voice of one who is terrified of returning to a hell that they had escaped.

"I can't go back to the camps, Gabriel. I _can't_." she whispers, making no attempt to mask the quivering all to apparent in her voice.

"Don't worry, Claire. I will never allow that to happen." Gabriel says, his voice dark with deadly promise and that predatory light appearing in his eyes. When she hears the crimson and ebony flowing through his voice and sees that relaxed, deadly tension in every line of his body, Claire knows that her friend will not hesaite to destroy anyone that tries to take her. She is more then alright with that.

"We're going to have to run." Gabriel continues after a few seconds of silence, his voice completely nonecloherent at the prospect of leaving behind everything that has been his home for three years.

"You're sure you want to do this together?" Claire asks him, for both she and Gabriel are aware that they will be safer if they split up, rather then go on together.

"I'm not leaving you, obviously." Gabriel says, his tone implying that she is an idiot for assuming for one second that he would consider any other alternative.

They drive well into the night, stopping only once after they cleared Seattle by 40 miles at a small, poorly lit rest area for a bathroom break and to grab a few sandwiches from the machine. The sun has been pecking over the horizon for two hours before Gabriel pulls off the road and parks in a deserted camp ground, which judging by the scattering of shin high weeds hasn't been used in about ten years.

"Are you sure you want to do this with me?" Claire asks as she gets out of the car, cracking her back as she does so.

"Of course I do, babydoll." Gabriel says distractedly, not pausing in his task of folding down the back seats of the car to create a flat surface.

Claire does a quick double take at rarely used nickname, not finding it odd in the least that Gabriel would leave with her without the slightest bit of hesitation.

That day they sleep on some doubled up blankets on the now flat surface of the back of the car, and by the next evening they are off again, having officially begun their life on the run.

**PART TWO**

The first month isn't too easy, but they both know that it could have been a lot worse. The worst problems they encountered included, but were not limited to: traveling at night along the back roads of Washgtion state in order to avoid the police, almost no sleep and eating cheep food from rest stops, spending unaccustomed long hours in the car and sleeping on rock hard surfaces, almost hitting a few deer and one bear, not to mention when all four of the tires were punctured at once when Claire drove through a patch of thorns on a long forgotten logging road. All in all, that first month could have been a lot worse.

By the time the second month rolls around the full sized mattress in the back of the car that was purchased by their second week on the road has become adorerned with sheets, blankets, and pillows. There are plastic containers holding their clothes, bathroom supplies and nonperishable food items, a few books and CDs, and extra bed coverings resting next to the bed. In the middle of the third month Claire has become used to Gabriel constantly being by her side again (in more ways then one), at the start of the fourth month she has stopped flinching at his touch all together, and by the sixth month Claire has begun to press herself against him in her sleep and has no objections to Gabriel's arm around her while she is awake.

Eight months have passed before Claire knows it, and in the space of those monthsthey have fallen back into their "stake out routine"; one of them driving and keeping watch, while the other catches up on some much needed sleep and food consumption**. **Claire and Gabriel also keep constant watch, automatically checking for any vehicles that appear to be following them and attempt to memorize the faces and voices of everyone they interact with to be sure that they don't run into the same person more then once. Often Claire will nervously place her hand over the empty spaces on her hip or forearm were her gun and knife normally reside, feeling naked in the forced absence of her weapons do to outlandishly strict permit laws and the possibitly that a cop may spot the weapon and arrest them. Gabriel is always listening for the smallest noise that is repetive or seems out of place, and has fallen into the almost obsessive habit of using Molly Parkman's ability to check their pursers position on a map every two hours.There have been many nights when Claire will awaken due to a passing light or the absence of noise and blurrily see him pouring over a map or sitting stock still in the seat beside her, carefully listening for anything out of the ordinary. Twice Claire has only been half awake as she feels herself lifted hurrdily from the bed, returning to the land of the living as they are speeding down the road, Gabriel wound up tighter then a twisty tie beside her, and Claire knows that they have narrowly avoided capture.

They sleep in the car, either in the passenger seat or on the mattresses in the back of the car. Sometimes a day or two is spent in a motel, the kind were no one pays any attention to blood stains in the carpet or druggies and hookers hanging around on the street corners, let alone a young woman accompied by an older man. Other nights are spent in rest stops, deserted parking lots, or abandoned camp grounds.They buy their clothes and toiletries at Wall-Marts, drug stores, and flea markets. Their food comes from cans, boxes, bottles, McDonalds, roadside diners, Target, and occasionally Perkin's.Claire and Gabriel get into fights, talk, laugh, and make jokes. When their money runs out Claire cons five and ten dollar bills off sympatric women, playing the role of a lost girl in need of bus fare, and Gabriel transforms small items such as plastic forks or pens into gold, selling them at pawn shops for around $50.00 a piece.They get on each others nerves, read _Tidbits_ and magazines, complete crossword puzzles and word fines, listen to music and news reports, play games of cards when they both require a break from driving, and Gabriel learns anew not to be embarrassed by that "special time of the month". Claire and Gabriel both get their hair cut at _Great Clips_, and each grow accustomed to instant tea and coffee.

At a gas station somewhere in Wyoming Claire's contacts fall down the bathroom drain, transforming her eyes from cerulean to olive once again, and by the time they've gone across Colorado and are heading into Kansas her hair has become a rich, golden blonde once more. Gabriel buys dark sunglasses, grows out his hair, and lacking a razor, develops a full beard and mustache by the time they reach Missouri.

Claire has driven to the middle of Arkansas before Gabriel has her pull into a _Barns and Nobel_, whereupon he goes inside for twenty minutes and comes back out with four CDs and six thick books, all dedicated to the Spanish language. Four days latter after he is now fluent not only in all ten dialects, but the written language as well thanks to his enhanced memory, Gabriel hands the material over to Claire along with some headphones and tells her to "study up", stifling a laugh at her glare and muttered "show off." Claire, having come to the conclusion that they are traveling to Mexico (she may not have jumped up brain power, but her IQ level is just fine, thank you very much) dutifully listens to the CDs, reads the books, and practices writing out the language, and with Gabriel quizzing her on everything from dialects and sentence structure, to word definitions and penmanship, she is just as fluent as him by the time they are 50 miles from the Mexican border.

Three days later they are able to cross into Mexico with no trouble and with nothing amiss. However things get a little weird when, after clearing the boarder by 20 miles Gabriel shapeshifts their appearance into that of Hispanics. It's not that much different from their normal appearance, but for two weeks Claire gets a slight shock every time she looks at Gabriel and sees a dark skinned version of her friend sitting beside her, not to mention the first two times she glances into a mirror and practily jumps out of her skin as she sees herself with dark skin, glossy blue black hair, and jet black eyes. Claire halfway expects their true identies to be discovered, weather by someone somehow recognizing them from the sates, or because a native is able to tell that Spanish is not their first language. Claire does not need to worry however, for Gabriel has amazing control over their shifted forms, maintaining their altered bodies throughout the entire day and only relaxing his hold over their forms at night when both of them are safely behind a locked door. As for the authenciteny of the language Claire is surprised when not only is she able to understand the people around them perfectly, but both she and Gabriel sound as if they have been speaking Spanish since birth.

**PART THREE**

Their journey across Mexico is not too different from their one across the US. They sleep in the car or in crappy motels, fight and tell jokes, Gabriel constantly checks the map and Claire cons money off of women. Their food consists of far too much grease, they sleep curled around each-other and become hopelessly lost. There are areas that are rich, poor, and somewhere in between. There are sprawling cities lined with concrete and glass skyscrapers, huge apartments and medium sized houses, offices, clothing stores, and slums. There are roads that are paved and unpaved, hookers and gangs fill up the streets, there are schools, children, and those without a home. There are dogs, cats, birds, and lizards. There are people that are being loaded away in trucks with black bags over their heads, children screaming as their parents are taken away, gunshots and murder, fear, rage, and lost hope, and people that live swears and eat out of dumpsters.

Eventually over many months, through much dissucsion and mutual agreement Claire and Gabriel decide to stay in Mexico. It is not something that they decide upon a whim, to remain in a foreign country where they have no job, no real home, and are forced to hide their true appearance. Neither Claire nor Gabriel honestly want to live in a place where they may very well end up living in a slum where rats invade the house, the putrid stench of human waste and garbage sit heavily in the air, and child prostitutes walk the streets, their eyes hallow and track marks littering their arms.The choice to reside in a nation were they do not have so much as a driver's license, were they may have to learn to farm or head goats, and partake in a culture that makes absolutely no sense to them, is not made simply because they don't want to go through the hassle of driving back across the boarder.This descion to stay is made because out of every country in the world Mexico is known to have the highest percentage of uncaptuered and undocumented illegal's. What with only about 100 people captured monthly, the illegal's here are ironically safer then they would ever be in the Untied States. They can have spouses and children, go to work and school without being terrified that they will return home to find that their family has vanished, nor do many face the choice of either killing their children or witnessing them wrapped in chains like a rabid wolf that must be eliminated. They do not have to run and fight, kill and live out every day of their lives in terror, all because a fluke of evolution or a single mutant strand of DNA decided that they were to be born with an ability that made them unique from their sibling or neighbor.

And after 15 years of hiding in plain sight and in remote forests, seeing sheer animal terror in the eyes of complete strangers, slitting the throats of children, constantly looking over their shoulders and sleeping with both eyes open, and watching their son die…. neither Gabriel nor Claire want to do it anymore. They _can't_ do it anymore.

The night that Claire and Gabriel come to this decision they are parked in the desert, laying on the bed in the back of the car that has been their home for a year and a half now, both naked thanks to the stifling 94 degree heat. The hot wind blows gently through the wide open windows, tickling their bodies and cooling the sweet from their now white skin. Despite the heat Gabriel is laying nearly on top of her, his body heavy and warm between her thighs and his chest hair and stubble corse against Claire's stomach and chest.

"I'm tired of fighting, Gabriel. I don't want to run anymore." Claire says wearily as she wraps her legs around the back of his knees, her fingers lightly caressing the silky smooth hairs on the nape of his neck.

"I know, Claire." Her friend says quietly, not bothering to lift his head from it's resting place just below her breasts. There is not another word exchanged between them that night, the only conversation taking place between crickets, owls, and a pack of Coyotes howling in the distance.

**PART FOUR**

In the morning as they stand beside the car, eating cold breakfast burritos and paying no attention to the now familiar sight of the landscape around them bathed a reddish-orange thanks to the rising sun, they discuss were to go. You would think it would be easy to disappear in a country as large and doslte as Mexico, but when you don't age and must constantly maintain an altered form to avoid standing out, it's really not.

"We could go to the city, maybe rent a low priced apartment." Gabriel suggests, his bronze body carefully angled away from the already blistering hot surface of the car.

Claire shakes her head, the silkily blue black strands clinging damply to her neck, and swallows her mouthful of eggs, sausage, and tomatoes before answering.

"I don't think that's a good idea, odds are we'd have to move within five years." She says in English, the words feeling strange as they roll off her tongue.

"You're right, we both need to settle down in one place for more then half a decade." Gabriel says, his tone completive as he conseriders the options. He doesn't try to persuade Claire to live in the city, doesn't say that people won't notice that they are not ageing in the space of a five year stretch, not when he knows that the opposite is true. Gabriel had known Claire 13 years, lived with her for four years (well, five if you subtracted the four years that he had Noah and added the one year they had spent living in their car) and he himself had been immortal for seven years.

Gabriel knew that if they were still in the States a few eyebrows may be raised when people spotted their age difference, but for the most part people would have enough common curtsey to keep their mouths shut about it. In regards to their lack of ageing for a few years people would attribute healthy living, cosmetic surgery, or simply good genes to their youthful appearance, looking upon them with envy and upping their own workout routine and improving their eating habits. After about five years however people would begin to question why two people who should be in their mid twenties and early forties still appeared to be in their late teens and mid thirties**. **They would receive strange looks at the lack of gray hair and maturing faces, frowns and whispers would begin to circleuate among the neibgours, any friends they had mangeded to make would start to avoid them, and they themselves would have to quickly move before probing questions were asked directly or the government was called in by someone who thought they were doing "the right thing".

In Mexico on the other hand it would be a slightly different story. There would be no strange looks when it came to their age difference, for in this country it was common to see girls as young as fifteen married to a husband who was over forty, and in some cases over fifty. When it came to their unchanging appearance for a few years it would be similar to the States, with good genes or the local herbal potions and beauty routines receiving the credit. After that, due to the highly supertious culture of Mexico and the strong supernatural beliefs of many of the inhabitants, their suation would become a lot more serious then a frown here and there. Claire could be accused of being the devil's whore, receiving immortality in return for her evil ways, or Gabriel may have roumers spread that he had been witnessed bowing down to Satan and drinking animal blood. Mothers would begin to touch their children to ward off the "evil eye" when they encountered them, and symbols of Christ or the Gods would appear outside the entrances to homes. The locals may even chase them with fire, crucifixes, or pitchforks, and if they saw that neither Claire nor Gabriel could die, let alone remain harmed? Then they would be safer if they were both swimming naked in the Arctic ocean, bleeding, and surrounded by Killer Whales.

" I think it would be best if we moved somewhere remote, that way we'd be safer and we could have a break from maintaing these forms for longer then a few hours." Claire says as she rubs her eyes, still heavy and gritty with sleep.

"I don't think I need that much of a break, maybe just-"

"Yes you do, Gabriel." Claire interrupts, voice sharp with tiredness and exasperation that he is denying the obvious.

"I agree that it's taking me a little more time to shift between forms –"

"A _little_? It took six minutes this morning and ten minutes last night!"

"But why do _you_ need a break, Claire? What's going on that you're not telling me?" Gabriel asks, his voice betraying his concern even as his expression suggests that he is angry with her for hiding something from him.

Claire bites her lip and looks down at the red sand underneath her tennis shoes, the brown skin of her legs appearing odd to her gaze.

_Damnit. I didn't mean to include myself in that comment. He's already having a hard enough time using this ability without worrying about me on top of it all._

Claire hears the muffled sound of Gabriel crossing the short distance between them and closes her eyes, not wanting to see the hairy bronze skin of his legs, so different then what they should be.

Although her eyes are closed Claire knows when Gabriel stops just inches away from her, feeling the heat of his body even before she feels his hands cupping the side of her face, gently tilting her face up to face him.

"Claire _please_, whatever it is just tell me. If I'd known something was the matter I'd have stopped shifting us before now." Gabriel implores her, his voice anxious and afraid.

Unable to deny the fear she can see so clearly within the dark gaze of her friend Claire takes a deep breath and begins, the words issuing from her mouth diminutive and scared

"It's getting harder to remember what I'm supposed to look like. Sometimes I'll see this hair color or my skin, and I _know_ that they're not the right shade, that they should be lighter… but I _can't_ remember how light. I don't know weather my hair is normally a light brown or dark blonde anymore, Gabriel. I know that my skin _should_ be white, but then I'll look at it and think "wait, that's not right."

Claire swallows heavily as she stares at the white clad chest before her, feeling the tension in Gabriel's fingers as he hears what this constant shifting is doing to her, what it is causing her to forget.

"Even English is becoming difficult to remember." Claire says with a small, nervous laugh. " The words either don't sound right or don't seem to want to come out at all."

There is silence for a few moments after she finishes, the only sound that of Gabriel's harsh breathing. When her friend does speak his voice is horse, shocked, and shaking as the magnitude of what has been happening to her hits him.

"Claire, I'm so sorry. I should have known that your DNA couldn't handle…. when your mind couldn't remember how your genes were supposed to… I _swear_ you won't have to shift anymore, Claire. I don't care if someone recognizes us. I won't risk you forgetting who you are."

Gabriel closes his eyes, and after a few seconds Claire sees the rich bronze of his skin fading away, quickly being replaced by the fair skin that she knows so well. Claire looks down at her own hand, which at some point has taken to clutching the wide rip in Gabriel's shirt, and it is with relief that she sees the color returning to it's pale birth tone. She catches a glimpse of her hair spread out on her shoulder, the light gold strands appearing strange after going so long with dark hair.

Claire breathes a sigh a relief and looks up at Gabriel to find him watching her, his eyes worriedly searching her face even his hand slips around the small of her back, his large hand warm against her skin as he pulls her closer. Claire goes to him gladly, needing to feel his arms cradling her smaller body against his hard chest and craving the feel of his the strong muscles of his back underneath her hands as she wraps her arms around him. Gabriel softly kisses the top of her head as he cradles her secularly against him. As always Claire feels so safe and loved in his arms, as if she is valued, cherished, protected, and loved beyond even what she can imange. As if Gabriel would not hesaite to sacrifice himself if it meant saving her life, would never willingly harm her, and would give her the world if she asked for it. That may be a strange thought to have about her best friend, but as Claire presses a kiss of her own on the flash of bare skin covering his ribs she knows that she would do the same for him.

"I promise, Claire. You can trust me." He says earnestly as he strokes her newly gold hair with one hand, his fingers lightly skimming the strands as if he doesn't think that he should have the right to touch her.

"I know." Claire says simply, smiling at the sudden light that shines brightly in Gabriel's eyes.

**PART FIVE**

Gabriel keeps his word, as Claire knew he would. That day Gabriel shifts himself and goes into the marketplace about two miles east of them, leaving Claire alone with some water in an old underground Coyote den to avoid the oppressive heat (it sounds bad, but the den is very clean apart from an old rabbit skeleton, and the hallowed out dirt surrounding her is much cooler then the ground above). Claire passes the day in the clean, cool, and dark space by drawing figures in the dirt, fingering the numerous spindly roots hanging from the ceiling, mentally reviews random facts (such as a scallop has 35 eyes, all blue), sleeping now and again, and reveling in the comforting knowdgle that her body is back to normal. Gabriel returns sometime around dusk, his arrival very apparent thanks to the frantic speed and volume of his footfalls (he'd somehow gotten it into his head that she'd been eaten by the den's pervious occupant), which makes him look at Claire with a mixture of relief and embarrassment when she crawls out of the den, her shoulder length blonde hair full of dirt and tangles but perfectly alive nevertheless.

As Claire eats the mangos that Gabriel had acquired from the marketplace (stolen, in other words), she listens to him explain that he had talked to an old woman who claimed to have grown up in an remote "homeless village" about 15 miles south, which was really an underground community of those whom had escaped capture by the government. The community that the woman had described sounded like a typical homeless area, with structures made out of metal, tents, or disregarded household appliances, makeshift stoves and "yards", and with the people either keeping to themselves or being tightly knit and not liking outsiders. The one difference however was that everyone of these individuals possessed a power, instead of just a scattered few. "They won't ask no questions, boy." the old woman had said around a mouthful of tobacco leaves.Despite the fact that the woman had been 85 years old, blind, more then slightly deaf, and thought to be not completely right in the head Gabriel decided to trust her "everyone says that she's crazy, but she seemed perfectly sane to me." Claire simply raises her eyebrows at Gabriel's predictable reasoning and helps him pack their few items of clothing, the photo album, and a knife into a small brown backpack, both items of which he had also "acquired" from the marketplace. After Gabriel shifts his appearance once more and alters Claire's "perception" to make her be invisible to any passerby Claire takes hold of Gabriel's hand so he knows that she has not become separated from him they set off.

They walk through the night, making their way through large crowds, passing brightly lit streets and vechails, and walking through a crowded marketplace with no trouble. Claire finds this whole being invisible thing surreal, not only because no one is yelling obscene comments at her, but because people pass by, collide into her, and even at one point knock her to the ground without so much as an apolgitory glance. As for the fact that no one has bothered Gabriel, that she's not really surprised by. Who in their right mind would want to bother a 6'3 man who looks as if he would punch out the first person who so much as asked him were a bathroom was? By the time the sun is appearing on the horizon they have long ago entered a part of town were, judging by the number homeless people laying on the sidewalks and drunks passed out on benches, looks to be a likely location for the homeless village of escaped illegal's. Two hours later they have yet to spot the village despite asking directions, they are both hungry, tired, and have blisters on their feet, and Claire is contemplating stabbing Gabriel in the back with that knife.

They are just about to turn around when off in the distance they spot an area packed with small structures made out of what appears to be boxes and blankets, looking very much like a homeless village.

Claire feels herself become visible again, her body appearing before her eyes as suddenly as it had disappeared the night before, and when she looks at Gabriel she sees that his skin is white once more. Removing their disguises may seem foolish, but if this is not the village they are looking for then it's best to appear as themselves rather then what people expect to see, that way if anyone tries to locate a tall Caucasian male traveling with a short blonde woman after they leave and redon their shifted forms they will be difficult to locate. On the other hand if this _is_ the village they are looking for the last thing they want to do is give the impression that the are untrustworthy by going in with a disguise in place.

Gabriel and Claire walk through the village, and by the time they have wound their way around the flimsy makeshift dwellings it is apparent that this village is indeed the one that the old woman had described to Gabriel.

This is obvious not by the "housing" that is compiled of cardboard, blankets, canvas tarps, or simply a wooden box, not by the disregarded garbage cans being used for stoves or washtubs, and nor by the 60 people crammed into a space that was clearly meant to hold 40. It is clear because almost every single one of these people are openly using their powers. Thereis a six year old Hispanic girl levitating pieces of colored glass into the air, creating flowers and dragons for her squealing group of friends, while two feet away a blond Caushion man is causing beans and corn to rapidly grow inside dirt filled plastic buckets. Inside a blanket tent next to the fence there is a Hispanic family, the father producing purple light with his hands while the teenage girl shifts into a cat. There are people making pink fire, drawing fabulous images in the dirt, transforming ordinary objects into yards of fabric, and so much else that Claire is becoming dizzy trying to observe them all.

Just then a thought strikes Claire. If _she_ is becoming overwhelmed by these abilities, to the point where she is actually feeling the beat of the powers in the air, thrumming and pulsating like a giant heart pumping blood throughout a body, then Gabriel….

Claire turns quickly to face her friend, feeling fear for those around them as an image of Sylar flashes through her mind, his Hunger released and his eyes burning with that _need_ as his finger rises to slice off a skull, that seductive raven wing and crimson voice whispering _I'd like to see how that works._

Her friend however, is not standing with his finger raised, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes burning flame. Gabriel is standing stiffer then a board beside her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he squeezes his eyes shut, his breath leaving his mouth in quick shallow pants.

Claire moves toward him, nimbly sidestepping a passing dog as she does so, and upon reaching Gabriel takes hold of his hands, hoping that if he can feel her touching him it will give him a better focus with which to fight his Hunger.

Thirty seconds pass, then one minute, then two.

Claire ignores the screaming children and the pulse of powers around them and frowns anxiously up at the tense face of her friend, her green eyes speaking volumes as to the depth of her feelings for this man. These are feelings that Claire has downplayed for so long that now, as she stares up into the face of an ex-killer, her best friend, and the one whom she would do anything for, she does not realize that her emotions have long ago surpassed the level of deep friendship.

Gabriel, meanwhile is contuning to stand stock still as he and Sylar struggle to manage the overwhelming demand to _take_ these powers. They close their eyes so they cannot see the people around them, people who do not _deserve _these powers, who aren't _worthy_ and do not know how to use them. It should be _him_ who has them all, _he_ who is the most worthy, not them! He can do special – no- extronidey things with theses abititlys, far more special then making art in the air!

His eyes are closed but it's not enough! He can still hear them, still feel the throbbing of the powers in the air and feel the Hunger pounding through his body and he has to _understand_, has to feel the blood under his hands and experience that extronidey sensation of a new power rushing through his veins and becoming part of his DNA, flawlessly combining with his genes until –

The thrum of another power slams into him and…

_Screw it! He's going to take them! He's going to feel the blood coating his hands and those powers rushing through his body – No, stop. You don't want to hurt these people, just like you didn't want to hurt Brain Davias or Maya or Elle or that waitress - SHUT UP !_

He can feel his control slipping, that iron tight leash he's somehow maitiened for all these years beginning to shatter. He is just about to raise his finger, to feel his power slicing through bone and hear terrified screams… when he feels a touch upon his hands.

Claire.

Claire, who smells like rain and lilacs even when she's covered in dirt and blood and sweat.

Claire, who looks at him in a way that nobody ever has before. With pride and friendship, love, joy, and loyalty, with annoyance, anger, and sadness, with desire, trust, and comfort shining brightly in her eyes.

Claire, whom has seen him murder entire families and loose control of his Hunger, who had seen the hate he had held for her beloved father and known that he had killed his own mother and dozens of others… and had never once turned away.

Claire, whose touch he craves and whose laughter is akin to angels calling his name, and how when she smiles at him nothing in the world can tear his gaze away.

Claire, whom he had gotten angry and annoyed and experated with more times then he could recall. Whom had rolled her eyes and screamed and thrown objects at him in turn.

Claire, whom through constant shifting he had almost caused to her to forget who she was, the unnatural ability forcing not only her mind and memories but the very nature of her DNA to become clouded, confused, and nearly incapable of shifting herself back.

Claire, whom he has seen murder countless people with eyes colder then ice and then witnessed the aftermath in the from of horrible nightmares and tears that she didn't remember crying.

Claire, to whom he had caused terrible pain and whose trust he had broken, whom had miroucsley allowed him to hold her in his arms once again, and who was the mother of their child.

_Are you going to give in now? What if Claire gets caught in the cross fire? _

She won't, I'll keep her behind me.

_What happens if you accidently slice through her head? _

I'll never do that, never! I'll sever my arm before I ever allow myself to harm her again!

_And if you do kill all these people? She'll forgive you almost right away you know. Claire will understand, she'll know that you can't help it. _

Yes..

_But what if you cause the government to be alerted? What if they capture not only you, but her as well?_

I won't let them take her! She's mine!

_Would it really be so terrible if they did capture her again? It won't be so bad, she'll know what to expect this time. She can prepare herself for the pain of the limb removable or that whip striking her spine, not to mention the genital mutilation - _

NEVER! I'LL KILL ALL OF THEM IF THEY SO MUCH AS LAY A FINGER ON HER! I'LL RIP THEIR ARMS FROM THEIR SOCKETS AND DECAPITE THEM! I WILL DESTROY EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM!

_If you truly don't want that to happen, then control this Hunger. Shove it down deep inside yourself and only let it out if Claire is in danger. You've been doing it for nine years, not to mention those four years you had with Noah._

I don't know if I can..

_What is more important to you? Claire, or acquiring powers?_

Claire.

_Then control it you colossal moron. If you don't you may just loose her._

There are children running by laughing and screaming, adults yelling at disobedient children or their spouses and neighbors, and powers being played with and used for a purpose. Under normal cirmstances any one of those things would have distracted Claire, even for a moment. This is not a normal situation however, so Claire does not miss the moment when Gabriel's face relaxes, his hands encircling her own as his eyes flutter open, staring at her blankly for a few seconds before they are able to focus on her face.

"It's alright, my Golden Panther. I have it under control now." Gabriel says soothingly as he sees the concern on her face, his rich voice carrying hints of both Gabriel's gold and Sylar's crimson as both aspects of her friend linger on the surface.

When the realization that both Sylar and Gabriel are present within her friend Claire is momentarily startled. It's not because his hands are both fiercely protective and unbelievingly gentle as the long fingers slide between her own, his thumbs softly rubbing along the backs of her hands,nor is it because she is unused to being in the presence of either one or the other at any given time.

No. Claire is startled because _never_ has she seen or even heard both Sylar and Gabriel present at _exactly_ the same time, regardless of the cirmstances. She'd seen split second glimpses of Sylar within Gabriel's smile and heard flecks of bronze momentarily appearing in the midst of jet black onyx of Sylar's voice, but never had each one been present simontansiouly, and in equal measures as well. The only reason that she can imange for this occurrence is that both Sylar and Gabriel are struggling to control the Hunger, which judging by Gabriel's severe reaction to so many new and unaquired abilities, the force of his Hunger must have come over him as powerfully as a tidal wave. It has to be requiring a enoumerous amount of not only willpower, but strength as well for both of them to be fighting so hard against an almost irresistible force. As Claire gazes up at her friend, seeing a blazing fire in his eyes that she had never seen before, she wonders what is essential enough to cause this alliance between them?

"Are you sure?" Claire whispers lowly, her worry for them still evident in her voice. "If it's too difficult to control it we can go somewhere else."

Gabriel shakes his head, his expression serious.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Gabriel glances around, his eyes guarded as he observes those surrounding them, surprisingly not one of whom had given them a passing glance.

"Come on, lets see if there's a leader somewhere around here." He says, still looking around for a few seconds before heading off to the right. Claire follows after him, noting the tension in his shoulders and the way he avoids so much as glancing at the village's occupants with relief and lingering anxiety.

After about 100 yards, the entirety of which had been more difficult then an obstle course as they dodged children, adults hurrying to and froe, and powers flying, hovering, and transforming every which way they arrive at a refergatior box, the outside of which is lined with plastic garbage bags. Standing outside the box is a woman around middle age, her relatively clean blonde hair held back from her face with a broken hair clip. Unlike everyone else she dose not seem to be busy, weather working nor experimenting with her power. In fact as her hazel eyes dart quickly about, lingering in the air one moment before darting to the far left corner of the yard the next, she does not seem to even be aware of the existence of those around her, let alone Claire and Gabriel less then six inches away.

"Excuse me." Gabriel says respectfully as he remains a slight distance away, clearly hoping to gain the woman's attention without invading her personal space. Claire puts her hand on his wrist approvingly. For all they know this woman might be insane and have the power to melt their insides or something. Defentailly not fatal, but it _would_ be extremely painful.

"Miss?" Gabriel tries again, this time moving closer and lightly touching her arm. At his touch the woman turns her head around, her attention quickly shifting from distracted to foucused when she sees him.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but is there someone in charge here?" Gabriel inquires, speaking slowly as he is still not sure as to the extent of this woman's' capability to comprehend what he is asking.

As Gabriel began to speak the woman's attention had shifted to his mouth, and when he is done the woman meets his gaze and nods in understanding, motioning with her hand for them to follow her before walking away.

Claire and Gabriel follow the woman through the crowd, Claire privately experiencing doubts regarding her ability to maneuver without running into a garbage can or tent as her eyes once again dart randomly about. Despite her seemingly distracted attention she leads them to a small gray tent without any mishaps. Outside of the tent is a tall and wiry Hispanic man, the slim muscles in his arms and neck straining with effort as he lifts a large bucket of water over his head in order to pour it into a tall metal tub. Despite his obvious lack of strength, not to mention corndation as the bucket leans perilously to one side, he manages to pour the water into the tub without mishap. When all the liquid is safely in the tub he turns to face them, reveling a face that is marred by a long jagged scar running from the crown of his head all the way to his chin. The thick scar tissue slices diagonally through his left eye, leaving the lid permentaly sealed shut before curving down to the corner of his mouth, dragging it down harshly into a permant grimace.

"New arrivals?" he asks in Spanish, turning his head slightly to the side in order to focuses on them, his one good eye appearing a little odd as he looks unblinkingly at them.

Claire nods, smiling at him even though she is somewhat taken aback by his scar. Maybe if they appear friendly they will have a better chance at staying.

Gabriel only raises his eyebrows, his expression clearly suggesting that he thinks this man is an idiot for asking. Then again, perhaps they would have better luck locating a relatively safe overpass to sleep under.

Thankfully Gabriel's expression was aimed in the direction of the man's blind side, so the insult goes unnoticed as he turns to the blond woman still standing beside them.

"Thanks, Emma. I can take it from here." He remarks, turning his attention toward them as "Emma" walks back the way they had come.

"Alright, here's the ground rules." He says, his tone the brisk and businesslike as he folds his arms across his chest.

"One: If you can find an empty space or someone willing to share with you you're free to stay. If not then you're out of luck. Two: If you use your power to harm or threaten anyone here you will not be permitted to stay. Three: If you have a useful ability, such as making rain or growing plants you will use it for the benefit of everyone here, not just yourselves. Fourth: Any type of abuse is not tolerated."

"We understand." Claire says quickly before Gabriel can openly object to using his abilities to _aid_ others (perish the thought!), and tugs sharply on his hand to get him moving.

**PART SIX**

Claire and Gabriel find an empty space of dirt in the far back corner of the yard, next to a box belonging to a man who has the power to talk to and control animals.

They create their structure out of thin sheets of metal and cloth, sleep wrapped around each other in a folded up blanket, and Gabriel grudgingly agrees to mold metal into structures and "weld" up holes in garbage cans for those who ask.

Claire finds clothes for her and Gabriel either at dump or flea markets, which they wash in boiling water before wearing regardless of where it was found.

They become friends with Emma, whom they learn is deaf and has the power to see and minuplaite sound waves, and who in turn allows them to come over to her box in order to use her garbage can for their bathing and cooking.

Gabriel and Claire witness live and still births and natural deaths caused by old age or lack of medical care, rather then a bullet through the heart. They observe homes being repaired, clothes being hung on makeshift clotheslines, litters of kittens and puppies born underneath wooden boxes, children discovering their powers and parents scolding their offspring for the misuse of their ability.

Both of them learn to tune out the clammering of rarely ceasing voices, the growls and snaps of dogs, and the loud echo of rain hitting their metal home.

Six individuals go missing from the village, never returning from their two week long trip into the city to acquire supplies. Their fate is never spoken of, but everyone knows what most likely happened. Their shelters are respectfully disassembled and dived out among those of them that need the material the most, prayers are said and toasts are held in honor of the missing members of the community, and Emma plays an amazing flute solo that moves the entire camp to tears.

When Christmas arrives it is celebrated by oranges, bananas, and mangos grown in abundance, beautiful artwork of rainbow hued glass temporally appearing on the outside walls of metal structures (Gabriel looks at the design adorning their wall in horror before giving a fake exclamation of delight when he sees the eight year old creator watching avidly from three homes away), and by traditional songs sung around a large blue fire in the middle of the yard.

Somehow Gabriel and Claire become assistant teachers for the children. Claire is nervous at first, for she has never spent much time around children, **practically **small ones with loud cries and grubby little hands. After three weeks, normal minor misshapes, and much trail and error Claire loves it. She helps to instruct the children in learning how to read and write, perform basic math, color inside the lines and plays the game of "which of these things are not like the others" with patience, skill and sometimes rather forced enthusiasm. Gabriel on the other is a natural. His patience never wavers even when he is forced to give the same instructions over and over again, he is firm but never harsh when one of them is misbehaving, and perhaps most annoyingly his enthusim is always genuine.

As Claire watches him calmly explain that "fox" ends in an "X", not an "S", she thinks to herself that Gabriel would make an excellent father. She doesn't notice the use of the present tense.

**TBC**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: not mine.**

**Section Two: Chapter Eight**

**PART ONE**

When the news reaches the small homeless village that has been their home for five months now at first no one believes it, least of all Claire and Gabriel. They _can't_ believe it because surly it is impossible, the mere _notion_ defies every thought and action, every murder committed and all the emotions they forced themselves not to feel… _everything_ about their way of life for almost 20 years. As the hours turn into days, as the news continues pour in, as more and more people leave the village and return unharmed… people began to believe it.

Sometime within the past week every law regarding those with inborn powers has been abolished, from the documents legalizing the camps, to the unconstuntial seizes of individuals, to the horrifying torture and experimentation. Every fear and nightmare that has plagued the mind of people worldwide is no longer valid, and organizations such as Pinehurst and the Camps have been elimated from every country in the world. People no longer have to flee their home, live in underground pipes, fear for the lives of their family, and choose between murdering their child or watching them be taken away. People like Emma, the red haired toddler with a knife sticking out of her chest, and the 7,082 agents who were captured two years ago are not thought to be "animals" any longer.

Some, those that have not lost everything that mattered or experienced fear, anger, and hopelessness every day for the past decade and a half believe it instantly. They do not need tangible proof, something that must be seen as one must see a unicorn before the animal becomes a reality, nor do they require confirmation that they can hear with their ears, as an African American once had to _not_ hear "nigger" or "coon" before they understood they would never again suffer the degoration of their parents and ancestors.

Others, the father who had lost his children and the boy that had felt never ending waves of terror, the young woman who had learned to kill with ice in her eyes… those who have fought until their hands were broken and bloody all the while never daring to scream… those people require so much more then mere word of mouth. They needed evidence in the absence of the trucks traveling the street, in the ceasing of their nightmares, and when they finally knew for certain that their screams would be heard.

When the truth finally sinks in that they no longer have to run from the government or those like Danko, that they can live in an actual house without worrying that they will awaken to find guns aimed at their heads Gabriel and Claire are stunned into silence. It's not that they had thought that this day would never come, they knew it would just as every war throughout history had eventually ceased for one reason or another. Now that it has however neither of them know what to do, let alone feel. Gabriel and Claire had been fleeing, hiding, living in fear and serecery, and killing for so long take it had become second nature to them. Will they know how to hold down a job where wearing a gun and knife is not required? How strange will it feel to live in a house for seven, perhaps ten years without packing up and leaving in the middle of the night because their lack of ageing had become too noticeable? Will they buy a home surrounded by people, or will force of habit compel them to live in one where the closet neighbor is thirty miles away?

Claire looks at her friend, whose face is enveloped by shocked disbelief as he stands beside her, disregarding the heat radiating from their box and the screaming, sobbing crowd around them. She takes his hand, allowing a smile to cross her face when he focuses on her, letting him see that despite the mirrored apprehension Claire knew he could see on her face she was glad that it was finally over.

Where will they go now? As they look around them both know that they do not want to stay in Mexico, nor do they want to settle somewhere such as Europe or Greece. In truth all they really want to do is go home, back to the United States where English is their birth tongue, eating chicken is more common that roasting a cat, and the average pay is more then two dollars an hour.

Thankfully getting there will not require a car, money, or long hours of patience, all of which neither of them posses. Three weeks ago Gabriel had empathically absorbed a teleportation ability, meaning that they can be in the States in a matter of seconds.

Suffice to say teleportation is a fairly easy way to travel, with only a slight sensation of dizziness accompying it. Claire is grateful for this as they land in the middle of a tightly packed crowd in Kirby Plaza, New York. If the feeling of disorientation had been any stronger she would probley have toppled over, crashing into the red haired man next to her and causing everyone else to fall over like a line of dominions. As it is no one notices their abrupt arrival save for a frighten pigeon, for the whole crowd is one angry mass. There are men and woman in business suits and fashionable hairstyles, those that are dressed in UPS uniforms or t-shirts and blue jeans, and those like Claire and Gabriel who are donning soiled clothes and oily hair. Despite this clear diversity of not only economic and social class, but most likely illegal's, non-illegal's, and "unpowered" individuals as well they all appear to be in a similar mindset. There are angry shouts ringing out, fists and picket signs raised high above their heads as they face the fountain and a tall podium of twenty men, who judging by the images of different flags behind them are meant to be the repesantives of foreign nations.

The purpose of this meeting is lost on Claire however, for after living so long in what was comparison dead silence the jumble of raised voices and the loud echo of a heavily accented voice issuing through a microphone is causeing her to become overwhelmed. Her mind is apparently trying to compensate for the abrupt shift in the noise level as all of the voices reach her ears simountenstly in a meaningless babble of noise, leaving her unable to determine if this crowd is for or against this new law of "we were jackasses and those who are born with powers are not worthless animals", or if they all are protesting the slaughter of a saceraite cow in India.

Claire feels Gabriel's hand gripping her arm, and through her wince she catches sight of his face, tense and strained as he teleports them away again.

This time they land in a loft which Claire recognizes as once having belonged to Isaac Mendez, and more recently Mohinder Suresh. Thankfully the loft is empty not only of the horribly mutated and dangerous scientist, but the spider like webs hanging from the walls, rotting food and old medical equipment, and the large floor based mural of New York exploding. In fact the only things residing in the loft is a thick layer of dust, a few beams of low sunlight streaming in through the boards on the windows, and a couple cockroaches making their way across the floor.

"I'm assuming that this is the first place that popped into your head?" Claire asks as she uses her finger to wipe away some dust on the railing, the shiny steel a contrast to the gray residue covering it.

"Yes. I don't know why, as I've only been here twice before." Gabriel says as he walks down the steps, turning in a slow circle in the middle of the spacious floor.

Claire makes her way over to the large window area to the left of the door, inspecting the dead flies and mice droppings on the windowsill, finding such a common New York sight surreal after two years of seeing decomposing animal carcasses and used heroin needles.

"You most likley remembered that you spent two days here without being found. You recalled a feeling of safety or something." Claire remarks distracdly, her attention more focused on looking carefully around for the offending mouse so she can throw her hole filled shoe at it (seriously, she's sick to death of those stupid little rodents).

Gabriel nods and gives a "Mmm" of agreement as he continuines to walk slowly around the loft, his eyes closed and his head cocked to the side. If Claire were to guess what exactly he's doing, she would say that he's enjoying how he can actually move without bumping into someone carrying a skinned dog as well as listening to make sure no one has heard their arrival. When two minutes pass and there's no appearance of fire in Gabriel's hands Claire figures it's safe and makes her way around the loft, seeing for herself what they have to work with. For the most part except for a bathroom and an empty kitchen area the loft is all one room, the numerous windows no doubt making it appear bigger then it actually is.

After a few more minutes of loft appraising Gabriel sits down underneath a boarded up window, placing the old backpack containing Noah's photo album that Claire had not noticed before now on the floor beside him. Claire walks over to him, Gabriel spreading his arms as she settles down in the V of his legs and leans against his chest, Gabriel's arms folding over her stomach and holding Claire against him.

Claire closes her eyes and relaxes against her friend, feeling safe despite the chaotic world around them. Soon Claire begins to feel herself drifting off, which doesn't surprise her seeing as she hasn't gotten a goodnight's sleep in three years, not to mention the sudden change in her and Gabriel's cardien rhythms.

"Do you think it's really over? All of it?" Claire asks, her sleepy voice loud in the large and empty loft.

"Yeah, I think it is. For the most part anyway." Gabriel mumbles, his voice groggy as well.

There is an abandoned dust covered loft on the upper side of Manhattan. A loft that had once held paintings of the future, a bloody corpse, and the human result of an experiment gone wrong. Now it only contains two people who have traveled across the country to avoid prosecution, who have been called "unnatural" and lived in a car and a sweltering metal box, and who choose one hell over another only for one of them to exist in the midst of the very hell she was fighting to escape. They are asleep now, the dark haired man holding the blonde woman in his arms as she nuzzles her face against his chest. In spite of everything they have endured and every danger they have faced they feel safe now, for they can hear the heartbeat of the one whom they would be lost without.

**TBC**


	25. Chapter 25

Disclamier: not mine

**Section Three: Chapter One**

_**2026 – 2031**_

**PART ONE**

It has been five years since that day in a homeless village in Mexico when everything changed, and within those years many more changes have occurred throughout the world. Some are perdibtcile, others are unprecedented, a few are minor alterations that cause barley a ripple in the large scheme of things, there are occurrences that give millions of people hope, and the there are things that are important to only a select few individuals.

**PART TWO**

Claire and Gabriel did not intend to buy the loft that they had landed in after teleporting away from Kirby Plaza, it just sort of happened. The morning after they had arrived in the States Claire had awakened to find a note from Gabriel written in the dust on the wall.

"Back in an hour."

Twenty minutes later, during which Claire had passed her time searching for that mouse Gabriel teleported back in, carrying two breakfasts from McDonald's. After using some packets of wet napkins to wipe clean a small area of the floor they sit on the cold concrete, and in between bites of pancakes, greasy hash browns, and mouthfuls of orange juice Claire and Gabriel discus their plans. They both agree to keep a low profile, firstly because neither are sure that anyone is supposed to be residing in this loft, and secondly because neither of them want to be bothered. Claire revels that she would like to go to college, seeing as she had barely finished High School before being forced to work for Pinehurst, and Gabriel says that as of right now the only thing he wants to do is live in a place with water that doesn't require a fire underneath it to become hot. Both of these goals, despite the extreme differences in the time duration it will take to reach them, require money, which means obtaining a job.

It takes some effort, but after two weeks of sneaking in showers and teeth brushings at a nearby YMCA, obtaining nice clothes and an air mattress at a church charity donation, trekking all over Lower Manhattan, and filling out endless stacks of applications they finally land work. Claire is hired as a waitress at an Olive Garden only 15 minutes away by the Subway, while Gabriel gets a job as the greater at a used car dealership just down the street.

In terms of the actual work she is required to perform Claire's job is fairly easy, for apart from dealing with some rude customers every once in a while all she really has to do is remember orders, be polite and deliver the food quickly, wash tables and make sure the drinks are full. Now the mindset…. that's another story. Claire has not had any sort of job in six years, and the only one that she _did_ have required killing, stakeouts, and tracking a terrorist back and fourth across the earth four times before lunch. Working in a place where she can't order people around, is always expected to smile and appear well rested, and must listen to people complain about their problems and comment on everything from the weather to the camp that was just found in Ethiopia _without_ knocking them out with her tray is very draining.

Gabriel's job is much simpler, for all he's required to do is open the door for customers and say "Welcome to Save and Pay." Claire could kill him for this, if for not the fact that he's even more board then she is.

By the end of two months they have made $150.00 between them, which isn't even enough to buy a mattress, let alone something as basic as modernized hot water. It _is_ enough to buy food however, and the day that they receive the money Claire and Gabriel ignore the dark clouds that signal approaching snow and walk to the store, buying about $100.00 worth of fruit, water, bread, peanut butter, and granola bars.

When they teleport back into the loft they find a piece of paper near the door, which Claire would have thrown it away, but she happened to glance at the writing on the front and… thank god she didn't. This wasn't any normal paper, it was a check in her stepmother's handwriting, addressed to Claire for two million dollars.

Gabriel and Claire stare at the check, amazed that apparently Tracy had known where they were, and also at the amount of money that Tracy is just _giving_ to them. It would be enough buy three floors of this building and six beach front houses in Hawaii if they wanted to.

At this realization they both look around the loft where they have been living (hiding) for two months, and figure "why not?" So they buy the loft for $30,000.00 on the spot, insisting that the landlord doesn't need to show it to them before hand. Cleaning crews are provided by the landlord, and as the crew cleans out all of the dust and removes the boards from the windows Claire and Gabriel spend the next three days sleeping in five star hotels (read: hot tubs and chocolate), and purchasing clothes, furniture and other household appliances.

As night approaches on the fourth day Claire looks around their new home, which just like their old apartment is a combation of both of them. There is a firm bed covered with black and blue sheets, dressers and tables of either maple or pine, thick rugs and bare floor, plush couches and hard armchairs, tons of books and a flat screen TV, clothes in bright and dark tones, dishes that create a multihued rainbow, and French Roast coffee and Earl Gray tea.

So, no. Gabriel and Claire did not intend to buy the loft where Gabriel had killed a famous painter and they had spent two months sleeping on a air mattress. They had found a check after coming back from a store, tired, hungry, and with the threat of a blizzard hanging over them, and it just happened.

**PART THREE**

Almost as soon as the news reaches them people everywhere began to come out of hiding, some walking boldly out into the street while others peer around corners or make their appearance in the dead of night, unconvinced that it is really over. They crawl out of sewage pipes, open fields, and forests, uncaring as to the scars and bruises that litter their body. They do not notice the awful condition of their clothes, their skeleton thin bodies, nor the lice infesting their hair, for these have become as normal to them as the color of their skin. Others do however, and those that never had a reason to fear the Camps look on in horror as they see the hollow eyes and bones nearly poking through their skin, appearing for all the world like the survivors of a concretion camp.

The truth of the camps is reveled via newspapers, computers and television. People read in newspapers or online of how 4,000 individuals were found in camps in Nevada, while in China and Italy 6,000 a piece were discovered. They watch the news, feeling sick as they see people with horrible scars and disfigurements, those whose muscles have atrophied and children that have grown up in a cell, viewing the torture, fear, and brutal death around them as a normal part of their daily lives. After months of therapy some of the survivors of the camps, those that had not been driven insane, write letters to news stations or their government. They describe as best as they can the events leading up to their imprisonment, what treatment they were forced to endure, and the exact nature of the power that condemned them.

There are world wide heroes declared in the individuals of Micah Sanders, Abby Low, and West Rosen for their foundation of the organization that helped over 20,000 people safely into hiding, and there are protests and raids from those who still think that everyone with an inborn power should remain locked away.

Thousands of corpses are discovered, some dead of natural causes, others are determined to have fallen victim to the weather or wild animals, but the majority are found with bullet holes or stab wounds, track marks upon their arms or evidence of severe abuse, wounds that are impossible to be self-inflicted, and a lifetime of proustion. They are found in alleyways, abandoned buildings, buried underneath mounds of garbage, drifting along in boats in the middle of the ocean and on the bottom of rivers and lakes, and among the boxes of storage units and attics. Not all of the bodies discovered were above the legal age, let alone close to it.

There are public speeches of apology, new government leaders are selected, thousands upon thousands of people are imprisoned, and after the estimated worldwide deathtole of 2,9452 is released the past 17 years become known as "the worst genocide this earth has ever seen".

**PART FOUR**

Claire knew that going back to school would be difficult, but she hadn't thought it would be this hard. It was one thing applying for colleges, (what with forgering birth documation and High School records), waiting anxiously for acceptance or rejection letters, and finally touring the five colleges she had been accepted to. It was quite another matter figure out which classes she would be required to take at Berkeley College in order to obtain a Medical degree, keeping up with all of her homework, performing Clincial work, and managing her stress. If she were forced to write 20 page papers, memorize and take detailed notes on 60 page chapters, _and_ create presations _while_ studying 80 pages of notes _and_ remembering drug facts and how to perform surgery by herself Claire knows that she would either drop out or have two panic attacks a week. Thankfully Claire has help in the forms of Gabriel and Emma (whom Gabriel had teleported back to Mexico to find the day after he and Claire had arrived in the US, and who now lives in the loft they had bought for her on the floor below them).

Gabriel aids Claire by helping her review the material after he has memorized it, reminding her to eat and sleep, making her laugh, and proof reading her papers. He cleans the loft and makes her three pots of coffee a day without comment, makes her sleep and take breaks, and witnesses her three breakdowns with grace. Gabriel forces her to de-stress by taking her out to dinner and movies, goes on evening runs with her, makes sure she reads a book for pleasure, and takes her to play Paintball and Laser tag.

Emma helps Claire as well, in a manner similar and yet different to Gabriel. Emma is a doctor, having obtained her medical degree before being forced to run from the government. Due to the five years of hands on experience Emma posses she is more of a help to Claire then any of her professors. She gives Claire practical advice that she would never be taught in a classroom or in a hospital, such as how break bad news to family members, and that it was ok to let them see that the death of their loved one as affected her.Many times Claire will go to Emma for advice or aid when she doesn't want to stay at school until after 8:00 PM, or decides to give Gabriel a break from reviewing biochemistry, anatomy and physiology, or how to hook up an IV. Regardless of the hour or if she has a pervious activity planned Emma is always willing to go over vocabulary definitions, quiz her on the proper drug dosage and combination, or sometimes just listen as Claire complains about her workload or professors.

There is so much more that Emma does, both for Claire and Gabriel besides helping Claire study. She has become the only person that Gabriel and Claire have trusted enough to revel the secret of their immoratatly, as well as their work for Pinehurst, Noah, and Peter.She will go with them to baseball games and the aquarium, and they willingly attend her cello performances that she gives in Central Park in order to raise money for the hearing impaired. Claire helps Emma decorate her loft, and Gabriel buys her a rare collection of solo performances by Yo-Yo Ma for her birthday. Emma watches movies with them and goes for walks around the city, eats dinner with them twice a week and accomplices Claire to get her bellybutton pierced.

Emma has told them about her life before Mexico: how she nearly quit Medical school after her nephew, Christopher, had drowned while in her care, and that she had lived in an apartment with a cat named Button. Emma tells them that after she had failed to save a little girl named Megan she had briefly conseridered joining The Sullivan Bros. Carnival but decided not to when almost all of the members became targets of the government, and that after she had gone of the run she had worked at The Burnt Toast Diner in Texas.

She revealed how difficult it had been being a doctor when she couldn't hear, and how even though she was afraid when her ability first manifested she was also grateful for it, because when she sees the bright red sound waves of an approaching alblumence, the soft pink and blue of chemo children laughing, or the deep violet that is her name, it is as if she is able to hear so much more then ordinary people could ever hope to.

Emma has become so much more to Claire and Gabriel then their neighbor, an aquantice from a Mexican homeless village, or someone that helps Claire study. As the years have passed she has become their friend as well as their sister.

**PART FIVE**

Through humane research and testing a cure is found for those with abitiles. It is nothing more then a simple shot, and yet it will completely remove the power from the indviusl's genetic makeup and is resistant to any other ability attempting to take the place of the pervious one. It also makes it impossible for any abititly to be passed along to the children of those who choose to have this procedure, regardless of weather or not one parent has not had the procedure.

Mohinder Suresh becomes the spokesperson for the new formula, appearing on television with his wife, Maya and their two year old daughter, Alejandrina. He tells how his failed attempt to produce this very cure coupled with his foolish desire for abilities turned him into a barely human monster, and revels how his life was saved by this remarkable invention. Pitchers and television specials are released of Suresh family at their home in India, proving to the public that those who have this cure administrated do not have to fear they will accidently harm their families and can watch their children stumble after the family dog and hear their wife insult them in her birth tongue (maybe not on national television, but the general point gets across).

Mohinder and his family give people hope that they can live a normal life, free of whatever power they possess.

Soon the lines are spilling out the doors of medical faccitlies across the globe, stretching for miles in every direction as individuals remain in lines for days. Those who have it done appear in the media, their smiles and tears of joy prompting others to get the shot as well.

One year after the formula is released millions of people no longer have an abititly, and with more and more people choosing to take the cure the human race is slowly turning back to the same powerless state it was in in the year 2006.

**PART SIX**

New music bands become popular, controversial new books are published, and the shows of _Desperate Housewives_ and _House_ switch from one night a week to seven, and a new series of _Star Trek_ films are released. King William and Kate of Denmark have three sons and two daughters, Scarlett Johansson enters into a triad marriage with Natalie Portman and Zoe Saldana, and BarackObama becomes president of the United States. Energy efficient hybrid cars are produced and new trees are planted in an attempt to "go green", lakes are discovered deep underneath the Antarctic ice, catastrophic earthquakes and tsunamis occur in Japan, and 528 new species of animal and plant life are discovered.

**PART SEVEN**

Realizing she is in love with Gabriel could have occurred gradually or quickly, depending on how you choose to look at it. Claire realized it when she was in her second year of Medical School, after receiving a call from him during her break. The call hadn't been about anything important. Gabriel had just called to say hello, ask if she wanted him to make something for dinner, and to make sure that their plans for that Friday were still in effect. After Claire had hung up the phone she stared at it's shiny black surface, her offhand, parting words of "love you" to Gabriel stuck in her head.

Why had she said that? Claire had never said that to Gabriel before, not in all the years they had been friends. Gabriel didn't take it personally, for he knew that not only was he the most important person in her life, but that she had harbored a reservation for that phrase ever since Nathan had said it, and then proceeded to give Claire a choice between Pinehurst and the Camps.

_Most important person in her life… if you want to piss off your boyfriend up there he's the guy for the job… when she hears that he has acquired Molly Parkman's ability she is not concerned for the small child, but for Gabriel… you only smile that way when you're around him… crimson and gold wrapping around her soul… wouldn't know what she'd do without him…. I'll kill you if you say that to him…._

As the words that Claire had said and the emotions that she has experienced, the comments that other's had spoken to her throughout the years, and how Gabriel has always been first in her thoughts come back to her… it hits her.

She is in love with her best friend.

She is in love not only with Gabriel Gray, the "good side" of his personality, who fights against a Hunger that he loathes and whom had worked for Pinehurst. She was also in love with Sylar, the "dark and evil" aspect of him, who Gabriel became when he allowed his control to slip, who loved the dangerous consumption of the Hunger, and whom she had witnessed grieving over the loss of Noah.

She has been in love with him for years. That was why it hurt so much when he left, why she had been so angry – no jealous – when she'd seen him dancing with that woman in the club, and why it felt right to live with him and sleep in the same bed.

Claire also knew that what she was feeling wasn't simply based on lust, nor had this feeling developed because of mere proximity.

It had come about because of the way that he allowed her to fight her own battles, always standing quietly by her side should she need him. This feeling had happened because of the regret in his eyes when he murdered a family, that cocky smile and raised eyebrow that never failed to get under her skin, how he had not once condemned her because of what her dad had done to him, and because of the deep blue highlights in his hair. She had fallen for him because he liked ebony wood floors and plain white dishes, for his fierce temper and how he was always there for her, and because he always left the cupboard doors open and never paused a DVD before going to bed. Claire was in love with him because of the way he would finger her hair and play "connect the dots" with the freckles on her stomach, because he allowed her to yell at him and fall asleep on top of him, and because of how he could do sarcasm better then anyone she had ever met.

Had Claire fallen in love with him after she realized that she had never felt safer then when she was in his presence? Perhaps it was because of the dark undertone to his sense of humor, how he still liked to repair "time pieces", and how he could be unbelievably cunning and manipulative when it suited him? Was it because he welcomed her touch and concern for his well being, but brushed off almost everyone else? Had it happened because of the anger she could see on his face when Nathan critzed her, or had it happened even before that, on that day they had sat on a bench in Central Park?

If Claire had described this to one of her fellow students, they might have said that what she was feeling for Gabriel was nothing more then a crush. They would most likely try to reason with her by pointing out that anyone can feel butterflies in their stomach, love those little quirks, and feel jealously over someone and claim to be in love. But Claire knew it was so much more then that giddy sensation in her stomach that she had experienced with West Rosen. It was more because of the level of closeness and trust she and Gabriel had between them thanks to over 20 years of friendship and loyalty, hardships overcome, and countless moments of pleasure and pain that they had faced together.

They could sit for hours in silence, reading together or painting a cat climbing up a wall, and not feel the need to utter a word. It was shown when they had moved in together without discussion, how it felt completely natural to sleep in the same bed, and when they had entire conversations with facial expressions and body language. It was evident by the way they augured about little things and teased each-other, when they didn't care if the other saw them in baggy sweatpants or with their hair unbrushed, and how both of them made the other laugh and performed activies with each - other that they didn't nesserialy enjoy. It was clear when they instinevtly moved to protect the other from danger, and how they were able to forgive and overlook the mistakes that had been made and the hurt they had caused.

As suddenly as the realization that she is in love with her best friend comes to Claire so does something else. It is the last words that Elle spoke to her as she lay dyeing beside her in that car.

_He's in love with you, you know. Seriously in love, like you hung the moon or whatever. The way his eyes light up whenever you're mentioned, it's second only to… him. It's like he thinks you're an angel or something._

When Claire comprehends the content of her training partner's final words that for years had gone unrecalled she stands abruptly, blindly gathering up her textbooks and notes spread out across the table.

Sometime before Elle's death she had seen Gabriel and Noah.

Gabriel had been in love with her even then, when he thought that she had abandoned their son.

_It's like he thinks you're an angel or something._

Claire walks quickly out of the building, not caring that has a test in four hours. She has to find Gabriel and ask him – tell him – well, she doesn't know how she's going to phrase it. She just knows that somehow she has to tell him how she feels.

**PART EIGHT**

Osama Bin Laden is killed, the price of coffee, milk, and gas skyrocket, Micha Sanders marries Molly Parkman and new advancements are made in the field of space exploration. Same sex and multiple partner marriages become legal worldwide, 30 people are arrested and convicted for the repeated rape of an 11 year old girl in Florida, and there is a bombing in Sweden.

**PART NINE**

Their first "official date" occurs a week later, when she and Gabriel teleport to a deserted beach in Cuba. For the most part it's not all that different from the dozens of occasions they've spent on the beach. They swim in the clear turquoise water and sunbathe on smooth white sand, look for Sand dollars and crabs along the shoreline, chase each-other across the sand and dunk the other beneath the jewel like waves. They sit in the shade provided by huge palm trees, and Gabriel laughs his head off when Claire not only fails to climb a palm tree, but is almost hit by a falling coconut.

What is different is that now they have confessed their feelings.

The revelation of their feelings doesn't create any sort of sexual tension between them. Not because there is none, but because the sexual element had always been there, it had just expressed itself in ways that most people wouldn't consider to be typical "sexual" behavior of two people in love.

Instead of kissing on the mouth, Claire and Gabriel would press butterfly kisses onto each-other's chest and stomach, forehead and shoulders, or their cheekbones.

They touched each-other by laying a hand upon an arm, lightly grasping a wrist, or crassering the side of their face. Claire would run her hand up and down Gabriel's back or hold onto his hand, while Gabriel would place his hand on her lower back or over her hip. They would play with the other's hair, wrap their arms around waists or lean against the other's body. Claire would sleep either on top of or beside Gabriel, and while he would be the "big spoon", she would always wrap her arms around him. They would hug without reservation, lightly skim their fingertips over collarbones, and rub circles on the back of hands with their thumbs.

True, the aknowdglment of their feelings did not _create_ a sexual element to their relanship, it just made them more _aware_ of the already preexisting tension.

For the first time Claire admitted to herself that she appreciated the well formed muscles of Gabriel's body, and not in the manner that she would have apperaiteed them on Zach or Peter, but as she would on a lover. She made herself see that she loved the feel of Gabriel silkily smooth hair between her fingers, that she found the sent of his body as well as the taste of his sweat arousing, and that she had desired to feel his lips against hers for a rather long time now. Claire now understood that she and Gabriel had engaged in training sessions so frequently not because they needed the practice, but because the nature of a session required a lot of physical contact that she had subconchiely been desperate for. It meant legs hooking around legs, hands coming to rest over ribs or near pelvises, arms wrapped forcefully around stomachs and chests sliding against backs. Often their bodies would be pressed tightly together even as they attempted to throw off their partner's form, Claire bucking and withering underneath Gabriel's heavier body as it pressed her firmly against a mat, her body naturally mirroring the movements of the one above her.

As for Gabriel… he would tell her later that this revelation had not made him aware of anything other then that she wanted him just as strongly as he wanted her.

Another thing that this confession did not change was the way in which they interacted with each other. They still fought and lightly teased, touched and held one another, deliberately did things that they knew would annoy the other, and gave out glares and scarsam like they were going out of style. True, they definitely did not have the smoothest road behind them, but when it counted it had always been so effortless between them. Some might even say that it was as easy as breathing. The only thing that admitting that they were in love with their best friend had done was make that effortlessness even stronger.

**PART NINE**

They continue to go on "official dates" (as Emma calls them) for five months. They go out to dinner or go bowling, attended movies and plays, go mini golfing, ice skating, spend the night at a colorfully lit outdoor carnival, or just have a quiet night in away from textbooks and computers. Claire and Gabriel spend a week in New Orleans, staying in a small bed-and-breakfast that boasts airy and well lit rooms and fabulous strawberry bottereaux. They walk along the streets drinking beer out of plastic cups, take ferry rides, and go dancing in brightly lit clubs. They go to Maine for the day, watching the seals sunbath on the docks and go kiacking around Machias Seal Island, using binoculars to spot the black and white Puffins high up on the cliffs. Gabriel takes her to Ireland for a one hour lunch date, which they spend in a restaurant eating corned beef and attempting to see through the heavy downpour outside of their window.

**PART TEN**

Their first kiss occurs at night, outside of the entrance to their loft. It is not deep and passionate, the way that those cheesy romance books always describe it. When their lips meet it is in a firm, closed mouthed kiss. It is not a kiss that is fueled by lust or adrelaion, nor is it one of two people who are new to each-other's bodies. It was a kiss that spoke of the deep intimacy and love that only lovers of many years experience.

**PART ELEVEN**

The first time they make love it's hesitant, their first, forced time lingering in both of their minds. They take their time undressing one another, fingers lingering over cloth, buttons, and seams, silently asking permission before the barrier is removed. There are halted progressions of hands and mouths when even the smallest flinch occurs, and fingers, lips, or tongues are hastily drawn away if the flesh beneath them becomes tense. Pleasure builds, beads of sweat form, breathing becomes heavy, and explorations gain confidence as fearful memories fade. Regrown barriers are felt, stretched, and are breached slowly, the resulting blood ignored. Slow, then increasingly harder thrusts occur as breathless pants and unintelligible cries fill the air. Names are spoken as a reverent plea and when the pressure at the base of their spines reaches it's limit and after white hot pleasure has made it's way throughout their bodies he remains inside her for a time, as if determined to take possession of this one aspect of her that he never truly had a chance to claim. She lets him.

**PART TWELEVE**

When they get married three years latter they don't have anything extravent or ridouscly expensive. The ceremony is not held outside, nor is there white doves, professional photographers, hand taloriered clothes, rings of silver and 16 karat diamonds, or a bunch of people unknown to them. They are married in a court house, the bright red and orange leaves of fall falling from the trees as crows and ravens loudly protest the presence of a cat. Claire wears earrings and a beautiful yet understated wedding dress, while Gabriel has on a simple black and white tux from Men's Warehouse. The rings that they exchange are plain bands of silver, the only adornment being the elegant Celtic knot-work making up the rings in their entirety. After the judge has proclaimed them husband and wife Emma sets down the box of cupcakes to snap a picture,the resulating image slightly grainy and with the preasence of unknown others as they intrude on their newly wedded bliss.

Claire and Gabriel Gray could not care less how "imperfect" someone else might find their wedding day, what with the cheep court house, one guest, and boxed cupcakes. To them, it is perfect.

**PART THIRETTEN**

When Claire graduates from Medical School there are many families in the audience. There are mothers, fathers, grandparents, cousins, and sons. Claire sees her old lab partner, Elizabeth Berg, receiving hugs from her mothers, Gretchen and Kate. She notices those who have last names that she recognizes: Mitchum, Woolsly, Anderson, Willcox, and Gordon. There are grandparents beaming at their grandchildren, siblings gazing proudly at the one that had tormented them in their youth, and husbands and wives apulding their spouse's accomplishment. As Claire walks into the crowd she doesn't see her parents, her old High School friends, nor her grandparents.

What she does see is her sister applauding her, for once ignoring the sound waves dancing in the air as she smiles widely at her. Claire sees her husband, his eyes and smile convoying his pride as he stands with his hands in his pockets, his body angled toward her as he waits for her to come to him. Claire does of course. She always does.

**TBC**

**AN: There is a photo of their wedding on my profile if anyone would like to see it.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Claire and Sylar are not mine, everything else is.**

**Section Three: Chapter Two**

**2031 – 10268**

**PART ONE**

Claire has not consumened so much as a single drop of coffee in years.

This most cerntaintly was not something that was done by choice, but rather by nessacity that was forced upon her when the coffee bean, and thus the coffee itself, became extient in 2256. As far as Claire could tell from the digtial news reports it had something to do with a deadly contamation orginally found in one coffee plantition that had spread to the neibghoring plantations, and then had spread to the rest of the coffee worldwide through air currents and normal trasporation methods.

When the news had come in that coffee was offically eliminated from the face of the earth Claire stared at the reporter in horror, thinking wildly that she should have flash frezzed the the last of her coffee that she had drunk that morning, carefully chipping away at the frozen "deadly" liquid until it had been consumened over the course of twenty years.

"I guess it's lucky that I wore this outfit, seeing as how the seven years of mourning has offcially begun." Gaberial says solomnly, looking down at his black t-shirt and pants.

"Shut. Up." Claire says through clenched teeth as she stomps into the kitchen to make herself a comfort stack of chocolate chip pancakes, Gaberial's gawfes of laughter reaching her ears.

Just let him _try_ and take one of _her_ pancakes! She'll stab her fork into his eye, and then _twist_ the damn thing to make sure he's gotten the point.

If Claire had thought that going without her usaul three pots of coffee a day would be easy, then she would have been 110% wrong. Just because something couldn't affect her physcially, didn't mean that she was incapble of developing an addiction. This becomes appraent when the very next day Claire starts to exbit the classic symptons of withdrawl.

She becomes restless, constantly shifting her body or tapping her fingers and swinging her feet. Claire even goes on several runs a day because she experinces a sensation like ants are crawling up the muscles of her legs, ordering her to _move_.

For one of the first times in her life Claire begans to have trouble concernatioing, unable to foucus on anything as her attention flutters from one thing to another like a butterfly on crack. One minute she'll be watching a moive, then the next minute her attention is captured by a Blue Jay flying past the window, and _then_ Claire will worry if she screwed up on their taxes last month and whether the government will start sending letters.

Claire becomes irratable, snapping at Gaberial over the littlest things – _Why in the hell did you let me sleep in? What part of "wake me up at 5:30" is too diffuclt for you to comphrend?_ – until she can tell he's seriously conseridering killing the people who allowed the coffee to become contaimated in the first place, as well as traveling back in time to bring back an entire plantion and allowing her to run loose in it just to shut her up.

It takes three months of living in hell (both for her and Gaberial), but Claire finally feels herself returning to normal. According to her husband however, "normal" is not a term that can be appiled a caffine addict of 364 years, no matter how long she goes without so much as _smelling_ it.

Forty years latter when Claire becomes addicted to tea Gaberial stores thousands of tea bags in their underground panic room located at their second home in Scotland, just in case.

**PART TWO**

When Gaberial tells her that he can hear a second heart beating inside of her, his voice quiet and filled with wonder Claire stares at him, amazment warring with stupidifation. Amazement that she is somehow pregant after all these years, and stupidifiation because _holy hell I'm pregant!_

This time Gaberial is beside her throughout everything.

He is there through all of the restless nights, hot flashes, caotic mood swings, and strange and sudden hugner cravings that force him to get up in the middle of the night and run to the store to get pickles and icecream. When Claire vomits he is there to hold her hair away from her face, and when the baby moves for the first time Gaberial places his hand on her stomach, a smile appearing on his face when their child moves underneth his palm.

Her husband is at the hospital with her when they get their first ultrasound, his eyes shining with a reverence that Claire had only seen directed at her as he stares at the image of their child on the screen. He helps Claire pick out furaniture and toys, is baffled when she suddendly bursts into tears and thorws an orange at him, and they lay in bed and disscus names. Gaberial paints their child's room blue with white clouds and hangs up mobiles. He talks to their baby at every opertounaity, not careing if their hearing has even developed yet and ignoring Claire's remark that their child will be the only baby in history to come out talking instead of crying.

When her labor starts in the middle of the afternoon Gaberial rushes in from outside and helps her lay down on the couch, allowing her to crush his hand as she experinces that same fear she felt with Noah's birth. As with Noah Claire dosenot have to worry, for the birth goes smoothly and this time she knows who is in the room with her.

Four hours latter Gaberial is sitting beside her, holding their daughter in his arms. She is tiny with skin that is smooth and pink, there is a tuft of brown hair on her head, and as her eyes slowly open Claire sees bright hazel irises looking back at her.

They name her Ella.

**PART THREE**

Their daughter is three years old when Claire and Gaberial learn that she has inherated their healing abitily, and thankfully they do not discover it thanks to an event that scares them senseless. It is an everyday occurance of Ella reciving yet another one of those brusies on her legs, the type that small children seem to gain with every other breath and as natuallary as their teeth. As they crouch next to their wailing daughter both witness the large, already purple discoloration dissapearing before their eyes. As soon as the bruise has vanished Ella's ear splitting howls cease and she turns her perviously teary gaze to her parnets, who are both stareing, mouths agape, at the evidence of the power that they have passed on.

"Owwie go bye-bye!" Ella anounces cheerfully, clapping her hands.

Claire and Gaberial smile at their daughter, who as she totters off to play with her ball, is too young to know about the sibling that she has lost in an long ago explosion in Costa Verda, or that her parnets are sharing her enthusiam for a different reason.

**PART FOUR**

The Gray family has spent five months living in their new home in the Swiss Alps when they decide to go on vacation, perfebally somewhere warm. Neither Claire nor Gaberial wish to go somewhere they have been within the last 50 years, which rules out every tropcial climate expect South Amercia, which they have not visited in 123 years. They spend the next few days looking at the travel information, taking into account what they would like to see together as well as seperatly, figuering out what Ella would most _like_ to see vs. what would be _apporite_ for her to see, and reseaching the numerous hotels scattered across the contanaint.On the sixith day of searching they locate a hotel in the middle of the rainforset. Claire would have disregarded it imeadtly, but Gaberial seemed really keen on the idea so they did some more research on it. After learning that there were modern conviences, a pool, daycare and room service, and a protective forcefeild around the hotel in order to keep out wildlife, they decided that they would spend their vaction there.

The morning they were to leave Claire made ham and eggs while Gaberial used teleknisses to pack their bags, got Ella ready, and then took over breakfast while Claire got dressed and made sure that all the lights were off and the applinces were unplugged. Instead of teleporting directly to the hotel they opted to take a hover plane at the local airport, wanting Ella to get used to traveling long distances by methods other then teleportation. As it turned out taking a four year old on a six hour plane ride wasn't the brightest idea. After the first hour or so of coloring and looking at pitchure books Ella started to get restless. It started with shifting around in her seat and asking "Are we there yet mommy?" every ten minutes, then it graudated into refusing to play any sort of game, demanding her stuffed rabbit which they relized too late was at home, crying and high pitched screaming as her nap time came and went, other passangers shooting them dirty looks, and Gaberial and Claire quietly fighting over whose fault it was that the "unnaturally colored floppy eared _thing_" had been left behind in the first place.

When they land in South Amercia it is the middle of the afternoon due to a three hour flight detour, all of their fellow passangers look like they want to murder them, Ella is still awake, and Gaberial and Claire are stressed, tired, and refusing to speak to each-other. Unfourntantly they don't have any time to recouperate after leaving the plane, because as soon as they step out they are met by a tall, annoyingly cheerful dark haired woman who informs them that she had been sent from the hotel and was in charge of leading them to their desation. So the torture contiunes as they follow their guide down a narrow and winding path through the dense jungle, take turns carrying Ella, and attempt to fend off the thick swarm of bugs around their heads. After two hours Claire and her family had finally arrive at the hotel. Their room isn't very large, nor is it expensive, but it _does _contain a bowl of fruit and sandwhiches on the coffee table, two comftable looking beds, and indoor plumbing. As she hands Ella off to Gaberial Claire dosen't think that she has ever been so happy to see modern convinces in the past 1,000 plus years.

Three hours latter after battleing with Ella to get her to take a bath, mopping up the small ocean sized puddles of water on the bathroom floor, frocing their daughter to stay in bed, a quick two minute shower and a hastily sallowed dinner of sandwhiches and fruit Claire and Gaberial fall bonelessly on to the bed, completely exausted.

Claire is half asleep when she feels Gaberial's hands on her shoulders, roughly shaking her as his frantic voice invades her sleep fogged mind.

"Claire! Claire, get up! We need to leave, right now!" he says urgentaly, real fear in his voice.

Although her mind still feels like it's wrapped in cotton Claire automatcially does what he says, because if Gaberial is allowing his fear to be presant in his voice, then something must be _very _wrong. She has barley gotton to her feet when Gaberial rushes back to her side, now carrying Ella on his shoulder, who is mercifully still asleep. As Gaberial reaches for her arm Claire notices streaks of wet paint on his hands and as a wide area of red appears in her perphcial vision Claire turns her head sharply, catching sight of the futureristic painting on the wall only for half a second before Gaberial's hand closes tightly on her arm as he teleports them away.

When they arrive saftly in their living room Claire imeadtly wraps her arms tightly around Gaberial, the soild form of their daughter's back against her forehead and the familier arm of her husand crushing her against his body providing Claire with a sense of safty even as cold trendails of fear making their way up her spine when the painting appears behind her closed lids.

_The sky of the painting had been dark with an eclipse, the moon completely oblitherating the sun. They are in a rainforest clearing next to a huge tree, Gaberial laying limp and bloody on the ground. She had been sitting next to Gaberial's body, her short platiumn blonde hair damp with sweat, dressed in nothing more then brown shorts and a bra, and the entire front of her body was drenched with her husband's blood. Behind her form, in a large hole at the base of the tree there was a shock of brown hair, and in the foreground there was a blurred image of a large hand holding a 12 inch long hunting knife._

Claire does not remember that she had dreamed of the very event that had been dipected in that pianting, one night over over 2,000 years ago as she slept on her couch in a now demolished arpartment building.

Neither Claire nor Gaberial know that if they had stayed in that hotel room one second longer they would have ended up in that clearing. They would not have died, but Claire would have been violently raped and beaten, eventually "dieing" from a broken neck. Ella would have been forced to watch the depravied violence against her mother, not understanding why her daddy wouldn't wake up, why he wasn't stopping the mean men from hurting her mommy. Then, after the life had faded from Claire's eyes Ella would have been taken. She would have been trained as a child solider, learning to kill without emotion or remorse, and taking the rapes and beatings with a face and heart of stone.

Gaberial and Claire would have found her completely by chance 100 years latter, when they were in collage studying the effects of brainwashing on children, and had accepted an offer from a prison in South Amercia to interview a prisoner whom they suspected to be a former child solider.

Their forever 18 year old daughter would have been chained to the table in the intergation room, her father's dark hair cropped short and her bright hazel eyes cold and dead within her face as she stared at the parnets whom she did not remember.

Ella Gray, now known as #45643, would not have understood why the green eyed woman was sobbing as she sunk to the ground, nor why the dark haired man appeared to be using the table to hold himself up as he looked at her with a hunger and longing in his eyes that she had never seen before.

She would have never seen her refelction in a mirror, so she would not have realized that she shared their features, that those people on the other side of the room were her parnets. If she _had_ somehow relaized who Claire and Gaberial were, if she had ever seen her own face or possesed a dim recolation of their features? Ella wouldn't have cared.

Ella would not haveknown why killing was wrong, how _not_ to follow orders, nor how to feel emotion.

For her, commiting murder was as normal and acceptable as taking a shower, as simple as cutting her nails, and carried as much emotion as would the death of a fly in India.

She would instantly obey any comanded given to her, no matter how trival, selfharmful, or inhuman.

_Sit down. _

_Run around the block. _

_Drink this poison. _

_Allow yourself to be gang raped. _

_Pump this seven year old girl full of meth and hand her a gun. _

_Kill these people._

_Watch as we fuck this boy. Cry when he starts to bleed. _

_Defend yourself, don't let anyone touch you. _

It wouldn't have mattered what she was being told to do. She would have done it without thought, without hesation. Nor would she have ceased in performing the task until it was completed as ordered, or she was ordered to stop. It would have been impossible to do otherwise.

Ella had felt emotion once, but after 34 years of brainwashing, emotions were utterly forgien to her.

_What was fear? _

_How did loyatly, frusation, sympathy or envy express itself?_

_What about pain? _

_What did it feel like to experince anger, hate, joy, or loninesses? _

_You were soupossed to feel guilt when you killed another human being? _

_Disgust when a child was forced to put a hole through someone's head?_

_People were meant to feel an aversion to being beaten, watching someone die, or being raped?_

Words such as family, love, hope, pride, or selfworth would not have meant to her what they meant to others All she would have known was that "family" meant people who were just as likley to give you a place to sleep as they were to rape you or attempt to slit your throat while you slept. She would have learned that "love" meant beatings, physcial pain, and the occasional mercy killing of a severed carotied. The words of "hope" and "pride" would have meant absoutly nothing to her, for she had never experinced either. Their daughter would have grown up knowing that she was good for only two things: fucking and following orders.

As for the phrase "will to live"? It would have held as much meaning for her as did her own life: none.

If she lived? That was fine.

If she died? Well, that was fine to.

She was expendble.

She would not have recalled the pride in her mother's voice or the gentleness of her father's hands. Ella would not remember the words "We love you.", that had been spooken so many times by the very people who had just entered the room. She would not have belived them anyway.

Fortantly the horrific events that would have occurred in that clearing and the hollow, broken, centuary old version of their daughter no longer exisit. They do not exisit because this time… they were just barely fast enough.

As Claire and Gaberial Gray stand in in their living room, their daughter held secuarly between their bodies as words of devoation pass between them, neither have any idea of the terrible future they have barley managed to avoid.

**PART FIVE**

If you had asked Claire 1,525 years ago what she had thought the world would transform into, she wouldn't have thought it would become this.

Where once there was areas of the earth that were absent of people, now human beings live in every nook and cranny, for now every place that was once inhabbitle is now capble of supporting human life. From the highest mountains to the hottest desert to the frozen landscape of Antartcia people are guarnted to inhabbit it. There are houses and communities below the surface of the ocean, floating on the surface of the water, and hovering high above in the air. Humans even inhabbit space, living in space stations and starships similer to those that were featured on the now unknown _Deep Space Nine _and _Next Generation_ series, and have collinzed 30 of the 200 earth type planets found throughout the glaxey.

There are no wild animals now, nor is there any natural envirmont where they could reside. Instead every wild aniamal from chimps to dolphins to rattlesnakes live in "realistic habbits" in zoos. Claire has to admitt that these habbits are impressive, appearing exactly like the orginial landscapes had been, the current technolgly getting everything right from the tempture of the desert sand to the currents of the ocean. The animals reside in these envirmonts along with their natural preadtors, who have been somehow been altered not to regard the pray animals as food.

Amazeingly poultion has been completely illimated from the earth, for everything from the applinaces in homes to the water and air cars are fuled either by computers, solar or water power, or the carbon that all humans naturally admit. There is no trash anywhere to be found because anything from clothes to water to human waste is recyled once it has completed it's use, being transformed into something else entirally.

One thing that hasn't changed is basic human nature.

Sience 2022 there have been four world wars, descions and actions based on greed, and decades of discrimation against those of different enithcey, econmic class, and sexuatitly. There are still those that live in poverty and the lap of luxeraity, the sex trade and child molesation unforntaly still exisit, and it appears that drugs and alochal will always be a part of any human civalzation.

**PART SIX**

The stripclub is dim, with a slow pulsing beat and flashing multihued lights meant to create an "exotic and arousing atosmphre". Somehow that's been the standered theme for every strip club throughout history, as if said strippers actually enjoy degeradering themselves for people who more likley then not see them as little more then sex objects, all to earn enough money to buy a bag of apples or their child a new pair of shoes.

Claire is one of those strippers.

About three years ago the bank that had held her and Gaberial's savings of roughly two billion dollars had crashed, leaving them poorer then dirt. The bank had taken away their entire proptey and everything inside of their house, even though they only had one payment of $100.00 to go. The only things she, Gaberial, and Ella had owned were the clothes on their backs and Ella's stuffed bear. Fourntally upon learning of their perdicment a friend of theirs had agreed to allow them to live in one of her apartment complexes for free until they were able to find a job. This had proved much harder then their friend made it sound, not for a lack of comptance on Claire and Gaberial's parts (they've been everything from lawyers to computer technicaions to fruit pickers over the years, and both of them know damn well how to quickly pick up a skill they didn't already have), but due to their appearnt age. The problem isn't that they look to _old,_ but rather to _young_. When the human lifespan was enlongated to 250 years at first she and Gaberial had thought it was a good thing, for it meant that they would only have to move about every 80 years, and they would not have to watch their friends grow old so quickly. The problem was that when you appear to be little more then a young adult very few people are inclinded to hold you to a high standered, let alone hire you.

After a while Gaberial had managed to find work scubbing off the underside of floating oceaniac homes, while Claire landed a job at a stripclub that she didn't even remember applaying to. As soon as the manger had see her photo he had wanted her to perform as one of the dancers, not carring that her birth records claimed that at "53" she was the epulivent of a 14 year old in the 21st centaury (sickko). Claire and Gaberial had disscussed it, both of them relucant for her to take a job where she would have to degrad herself in such a manner (there had been some possesviness on Gaberial's part as well), but then they looked at their daughter sitting on the floor as she "shared" her lunch of an apple and a piece of bread with her bear… and both of them knew that she had to accept the offer.

So here Claire (or rather Kate Wilson, as she is known as) is in the back room of the _Siren's Song_, having just completed a double shift as she removes her third costume of the night. Claire is standing naked in front of her mirror, her jewled bra and thong in the "undergarment" drawer on the oppsite side of the room as she tiredly scubs at the artfully applied streaks of green glitter on her body, which the makeup artisit had designed to look like leaves.

Normally Claire wouldn't be very tired after working a double, but today had she danced for the lesbain, bisexual, and hetosexual sections of the club, served drinks for the homosexual section, given 12 lap dances, _and_ dressed up as a devil, a sluttly nurse, and a nymph. In addation to that she was also forced to call over one of the bouncers four times because some of the clinets had not headed the "hands off" rule, (one woman even going so far as to grop her). Last of all Claire's mind had been perocupied with thoughts as to how she and Gaberial were going to offroed Ella's schooling, weighing the pros and cons as to the bonus the manger had offered her if she were to dance completely nude, and trying to claclute the amount of food they could offord that week.

Needless to say this shift had been more stressful then most.

Having finished wiping off the body glitter Claire leaves her shoulder length hair hanging loosely and puts on her clothes before heading out the back door. Outside Claire's shoes make no sound as she walks across the strip of grass to the free water vechails floating beside the dock, her way lit by solar powered street lamps. Upon reaching one of the vechails Claire climbs in and enters her address on the touchscreen keyboard before leaning her head back against the seat, trusting the computer to drive her home.

The water car halts to a stop and Claire opens her eyes, the _beep_ of the computer alerting her that she has arrived at her destanation waking her from the light doze she had fallen into. Claire gets out and makes her way to the apartment, knowing that in the bedroom she will find her husband and daughter. Ella will be curled up with her hand in her mouth, fast asleep next to her father. Upon hearing Claire enter the room her husband will open his eyes just a sliver and lift up his arm, wrapping it around her as she lies down beside him. In spite of her job and their current econmic status Claire smiles as she unlocks the door with her thumbprint. She has her family, and that's what really matters.

**PART SEVEN**

As the years pass more things occur then just simple poverty. Claire and Gaberial tell Ella about Noah, what her power really means for her, and how old they truly are. An unknown illness spreads across the world, killing half of the pouplation and causing Earth to become a quarntine planet for the next 400 years. Birthdays are celebrated, holidays pass, and the seasons come and go. Gaberial looses control of his Hunger, killing seven people before he is able to stop. They get a pet Squirral and move to Minnesota, and Ella begans to ask questions about her parnet's lives; what have they seen and done? how did they get their powers? what would happen if someone found out about them?

There is amazment and joy when Claire becomes pregnant again, and then when she suffers a misscarraige in her seventh month there is depression, greif, anger and hundreds of tears shed. Gaberial and Claire fight and comfort eachother, they talk to Ella to make sure she understands what has happened, both shocked when she breaks down in tears and says that it's her fault the baby is dead because she had been angry that she was getting a little brother or sister. They reassure their daughter that she is not to blame, more tears, anger, and comfort occurs, and eventually they manage to pull through.

Three eclipses occur, people prophize the end of the world, there is mass flooding, Gaberial and Claire go on dates, and Ella becomes responsible enough to babysit. Gaberial completes High School and College for the 263 time (literatry), and the Gray family goes on a trip around the world, giving their daughter an informal history lesson as they explain how the earth has changed in the past 5,000 years. New laws are passed and some are abolished, the fashions change, and they teach Ella how to obtain a different identy; forageing birth documation and things like social secuarty cards and work history, changing your name and background, when it was time to move, and how to remain undiscovered and unregonized.

Ella enters puberty and begains to experment with clothing, hairstyles, and makeup. They give their daughter "the talk", Claire teaches her about her peroid, and Gaberial becomes parniod about boys.

**PART EIGHT**

When Ella is fifteen, in a fit of anger she calls her mother a "cold heartless bitch". Claire slaps her, the words dredging up the memories from a time when she wore leather and carried a gun, and her emotions fuleing the vishoues blow that sends her daughter to her knees.

When Gaberail comes home it is to find his daughter with tear tracks on her face while his wife chops vegtables with a meat cleaver, the tears in her eyes betraying the calm, seamless movments of her task. Claire tells him what happened, what Ella had said, what she herself had done, and the memories that had been drugded up, Gaberial looking as if he dosen't know whose side to take. After mother and daughter have apolgized to each-other Claire and Gaberial sit her down and explain, wanting her to know why what she said had affected Claire so strongly.

They tell her everything. They explain about her father's Hunger, how Gaberial became a serial killer and how and why he chose to fight his urges. They tell Ella about their time in Pinehurst, what they had seen and done, how they became partners and friends, and how the dangerous world they had lived in offered them no alternative. The truth of Nathan and Tracy, Noah's conception, Gaberial's leaving, Peter, and the aftermath as well as the events leading up to the explosion in Costa Verda come to light. Gaberial explains how, when everyday you not only wittness unimangble violence and suffering, but are forced to particapte in the very murder and deprqaved acts that you so loathe, more often then not you become numb. Claire tells their daughter that when you are forced to fight and committ unspeakble acts, and when you yourself experince constant hurt, betrayl, degeration, and suffering, you force yourself to deney your emotions. You push them down so deeply inside of yourself and surrond them with ice and deney the pain, that you will began to doubt not only their existence , but your own selfworth as well.

When everything has been laid out on the table night has long sience fallen. Ella has cried, become pale, given them looks of horror, and has whispered "I'm sorry." over and over again.

She has learned that her parnets have killed, witnessed mothers burning their children, faced predjuce and lived in a world where they were thought of as animals. Her mother was abandoned and abused by her biologcial parnets, her father had been forced to rape her and was then blackmailed into leaving her, and her Uncle had stolen her brother minutes after his birth. Her parnets had been forced to shut down their emotions in order to survive, had come to terms with the death of their son, and had regained the "friendship" they had maintained for six years.

Now she thinks she understands why their relanship is so different from anyone she has ever known. Why they give each-other touches and looks that speak voulumes, why they appear to understand, trust, and love one another on a level that she has never seen matched, why she will hear the names "Golden Panther" and "Sylar", and how they can be husband and wife and best friends as well.

As for Gaberial and Claire, they feel as if a huge weight has been lifted from their shoulders. A weight they had not been aware of (perhapes because they had become so accustomed to it), but an opressive one nevertheless. They fall asleep on the couch that night, spooned against each-other, and both feel better then they have in a long time.

**PART NINE**

Ella is 18 when she stops ageing. At first she thinks it's the greatest thing to ever happen to her, after all what teenager hasn't wished they could remain young for enirntey? Claire and Gaberial try to warn her, but like most teenagers she doesn't listen to her parnets. Oh she has _some _idea of course, after all she has spent her life moving from place to place, seeing the world change, and half of the population die, and all the while her parnets retaining the appearance of those who are 19 and 35. Experincing the reaititly of her power however, is a great deal different then mearly observing it, as Ella comes to learn over time.

She is 65 when she begans expirmenting. Ella jumps off cliffs, cuts off her finger, breaks her bones, and sticks a knife into her abdomen, just to see how far her power extends (although she is extermanly careful to never stick anything in the back of her head). When she is 150 and sees her best friend die right beside her in a car accident, while Ella walks away unscratched after coughing up glass and pulling chunks of metal out of her body, Claire and Gaberial's daughter begans to get some idea of what her power really means.

Fifty years later, at 200 years of age when she notices that everyone around her has begun to develop wrinkles and gray hair, while she still looks as young and vibrant as ever Ella is forced to move. She moves with her parnets out of pure habbit, but when "Laura Freeman" is standing in the empty kitchen of her new apartment 4,000 miles away from all of her childhood friends, knowing that she can never again contact them and must remember her "life story" like the color of her hair or her parnets names, the reality begans to take root.

By the age of 350 Ella has moved and changed her identy two more times, she has seen two generations come and go, and has witnessed warfare, fammine, and been in enough "life threating suations" that she should have died a hundred times over. It isn't until 400 years of age that Ella asks her parnets why. Why did she inheart this abititly? Why can they never have any real friends or lovers and must watch everyone around them subcome to deasiese, war, fammine, old age, or horricic accidents while they contiune to live on like some mutant human cockroach? Claire and Gaberial don't have an answer for their daughter, but they've often wondered that themselves.

**PART TEN**

Claire doesn't know why it happens, nor how it is possible. All she knows is that during the eclipse a pole went straight through Gabriel's skull, and when it had ended the bloody hole that marked the spot where the impalement had been… stayed.

At first she had absurdly thought it was a sick joke made possible by his shape-shifting ability, and told him to get up because it was his turn to make dinner, becoming annoyed when he didn't respond. The realization hits her when she registers the sun shining through the window and the blank, lifeless expression in his eyes.

Claire isn't too sure what happened in the intervening minutes, her shock and fear blocking the events from her mind. She recalls frantically calling his name, shaking his body, injecting vial after vial of her blood into his heart, trying to force the organ to beat and his lungs to breath, and pleading with God, the Devil, and anyone who was listening to give him back. She remembers bloody handprints on his face, an odd sensation that felt as if she was floating outside of her body, and her own voice screaming that he had promised, that she needed him.

At some point Ella must have entered the house, because suddenly their daughter is crouching in front of her, her mouth trembling and eyes wet with tears as she blocks the sight of Gabriel's body. Claire looks at her blankly, not seeing her daughter at all, but rather the eyes of her husband.

The eyes that for 8,237 years she had seen growing cold with anger, widening in fear, filling with love, and had woken up next to every morning without fail.

Now those eyes are cold, dead, and without life.

Claire will never again see them sparkling with wicked humor, darkening with his Hunger, burning with fire brought on by desire, or witness them darting from side to side as he aims to protect her.

She will never again feel his fingers stroking her hair or his lips against her own.

Never again will she hear that gold and crimson voice that even after all these years still wraps itself tightly around her soul, nor will she hear the steady _thump-thump_ of his heart beating inside his chest.

Soon his sent will fade, and she will never again detect the odor of his body in the sheets or his shampoo lingering in the small space of the shower.

Eventually the delicious taste of his sweat and the intoxicating flavor of his blood will fade from her tongue.

Claire will never again see the man who is her best friend, lover, and husband sitting at the kitchen table, his eyebrows furrowed as he goes over the taxes. Never again will she witness the one who has been the other half of her heart and soul breaking out into a smile simply because she has walked into the room.

She will never… never again….

_Please, god. Don't take him. I'll do whatever you ask, you can have my soul if that's what it would take. Here, do you see it? I'm offering it to you to do with as you please. You can take it in your hands or send it down into the fiery pits of hell and the daemon's hungry claws. All that I ask is that you give him back to me. Please, I'm begging you oh Lord, my Father and my God. My husband is everything to me… I need him. Please… please._

Claire and Ella burry Gabriel on the deserted hillside were their first child had been laid to rest, his body nothing more then ashes and his tomb a uninhabitable wasteland.

They have owned this land for 600 years, but they have never gone back to it, for it contains too many painful memories. Now it will hold one more.

Claire Sandra Gray stands silently beside her daughter, her blonde hair loose about her shoulders, and her black dress doing little to protect her from the cold. Her green eyes are dry as she reads the inscription on the tombstone.

Gabriel Sylar Gray

1989 10226

We know you didn't break your promise.

Without a word to her daughter Claire turns and walks down the hillside. She cannot bring herself to look at the ebony and silver casket.

**PART ELEVEN**

When Claire returns home she locks the door behind her, allows her purse to drop onto the floor… and stands there in the dark.

Claire doesn't try to bottle up her grief like she had with Noah, or when Gabriel left because he thought he was protecting her. She doesn't try because it would be impossible. Claire can not even conceive how to do so, because if she tried then this burden that she can feel constricting her lungs and grinding her bones into dust will destroy her.

Right there in front of her door Claire allows herself to sink onto the hard wood of the floor… and she doesn't fight the tears. For eight hours tears pour from her eyes and heart-wrenching sobs rise up from deep within her. She rocks herself and punches hole after hole in the wall, screams wordless sounds of agony, and as she presses her wedding ring against her heart she whispers his name.

**PART TWELEVE**

There is no numbness this time, and sometimes Claire almost wishes there was. For now she knows that when she sees Gabriel standing in the kitchen, when she hears his laugh or dreams of him it is her grief finding new ways to express itself. Now Claire knows the soul destroying, white hot pain that this type of loss brings as she and Ella sit on the couch and cry for hours, when she sees Gabriel beside her in the photographs scattered around the house, or when she will wake up and just for a second… she will forget.

Sometimes Claire can almost convince herself that this is not real. She tells herself that any second she will feel his arms wrap around her waist or hear his voice whispering in her ear. But then she will see his clothes in the closet, the fabric cold and smelling of nothing more then odorless soap, and the illusion will shatter.

**PART THIRTEEN**

Fifty years latter, Claire attends her daughter's wedding to John Vance, a very nice "young" man who was also born with Claire and Ella's healing ability. Claire helps her daughter pick out a dress, plan the wedding, gets to know John some more and helps him plan a surprise honeymoon, and smiles and cries when they exchange "I do's".

All in all Claire appears to be doing much better then half a centenary ago, and if you were to ask Ella, she would say that the grief of her father's passing has gotten much easier to deal with, especially for her mother.

Claire would laugh at that.

First of all, please define "easier" for her, because she would _love_ to hear your response.

Do you classify it as "easier" when she no longer wakes up crying in the middle of the night, or when she does not punch holes into the walls, all the while cursing God? How about when she can go a whole month before breaking down and sobbing uncontrobally in the middle of the floor, or when she can look at her daughter's features without wincing?

If so, then yes, Claire would appease you and agree that it has gotten "easier".

However, if you see "easier" as that old "time heals all wounds" mentality, then Claire would be all to happy to disappoint you.

Gabriel's death is not "easier" to deal with, not when there is still a festering, bleeding wound inside of her where her heart and soul used to reside. The pain of the passing of her husband is unlikely to lessen, not when there are weeks at a time when Claire has to force herself out of the bed, when she will still see him leaning against the counter out of the corner of her eye as she makes dinner, or as she sees his face in the photographs scattered around their house. As long as she has her memories, as long as she continues to reach behind her for his hand whenever she is afraid, and as long as she hears him whispering "I love you." into her ear when he thought she was asleep… it will never get any easier.

Claire never revels any of this to her daughter, for she knows it will make her worry, and in true mother fashion, Claire dose not want Ella to worry about her.

**PART FOURTEEN**

Her name is Claire, but she has gone by Rose, Kate, Megan, Pom-Pom, Sara, Emily, Cheerleader, Mom, Claire-bear, Nina, Golden Panther, and Willow.

She is over 8,000 years old, but doesn't look a day over 19. Her hair has been brown, strawberry-blonde, jet black, golden and platinum blonde, auburn, and at one point briefly contained blue streaks.

She has been a high school student and a cheerleader, a trained killer, a mother, and an inconvience. She has held the position of a friend, a doctor and a daughter, a stripper and a lawyer, a wife, caterer, and coffee addict.

She has seen the human race take over the world and witnessed it's near destruction, saw the breathtaking beauty of a millions sunrises as well the curtly of humanity.

She was lucky enough to find the other half of her soul, most would say in the unlikeliest of men. She has lost two children, but will always treasure the wonderful daughter that she was lucky enough to receive.

She has been abused and tortured, has experienced the ultimate betrayal and the ultimate depths that love reach. She has felt joy, anger, pain, love, terror and a complete absence of emotion.

She has been one of the richest people in the world, one of the poorest, and somewhere in between. Claire has lived on the street, in the middle of the Olympic Panslyia, a beautiful tropical island, and in an ancient stone castle.

These things that Claire Sandra Gray has experienced, that she has felt and seen and lived through are not even a handful of what defines her as she walks home from her daughter's wedding. She could live another 8,000 years and do, feel, see, and_ be_ so much more if she wanted to, but she does not.

All Claire wants to do is go to sleep, for she is tired.

She is so very tired.

**TBC**

**There are three examples of the "photos" on my profile page.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: This is one of the few sections of this story that I can say I own (still not making any money though)**

**EPILOUGE**

**Date Unknown**

On a weed and wildflower covered hillside there is a single tombstone, marking the spot were two graves lay. You might not recognize the spot for what it is if you were to come across it, for the grass has long ago grown thick over the once freshly turned earth, and the words on the tombstone have almost completely eroded away.

If you stick around long enough you are sure to see a young woman with dark hair approach the ancient stone. She will stand there for a while, not speaking a word to the two unknown people that lay beneath the earth. Before she leaves she will place at the base of the stone five roses: two red, two white, and one pink.

This woman will walk back down the hill and join the two people who are waiting for her. One is a tall, equally young man with dark hair and eyes as blue as the sky overhead. The other is a small child, a boy who shares many features with the man, including his dark hair. Despite the similteries two of his features are different. His eyebrows are long and thick, and his eyes are olive green.

The woman and her companies will leave the hillside, but they will return next year, on this very same day. You're welcome to stick around if you like, maybe give the woman a nod of greeting as she passes, or perhaps inquire as to who lays beneath that stone.

Or perhaps not.

You are more then free to come back in 60 years, for the stone and the same young woman and man will still be there. Oh, the boy accompying them will be a little older of course, and the writing on the stone will be more faded, but other then that there will be no change.

Then again, you are equally free to leave and never return.

It's wholly your choice, you know.

**END**

**Did you like it?**


End file.
